Wolves of War
by GulfYankee23
Summary: The Wight Walkers failed to unite humanity, so the Lord of Light has unleashed a far greater horror upon the world. One that will NOT be so easily defeated. Daenerys, resurrected, has fought a losing battle of attrition for nearly five years against this relentless enemy. Now, she must turn to those she hates to help her save the world. Jonerys. Game of Thrones/Gears of War
1. Arrival

_**Authors Note: Hello everyone! Welcome to my first ever endeavor into fanfiction writing. I've been a reader of fanfiction for several years now. Recently, one of my favorite authors inspired me to write my own.**_

_**A couple of important things to mention before we get started. **_

_**First, this GOT fanfic is going to use elements from the Gears of War video game universe. While I will make every effort to be as descriptive as I can when introducing these elements to the story, I will also provide you with the information necessary to look them up. That way, you can read up on the lore of Gears and have a MUCH better visual than I could provide with the limited vocabulary of the GOT universe. How exactly do you say "assault rifle with a chainsaw bayonet" in medieval speak?**_

_**Second point, and arguably the most important; I am a firm believer in happy endings. Rest assured, Jon and Dany WILL be alive and together by the end of this fic. That being said, this is Game of Thrones WITH elements from Gears of War, so the road ahead is going to be a long and bloody one.**_

_**Lastly, on the subject of reviews. I am new to this, so any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you have questions, ask them. I would be more than happy to answer them if I can. **_

_**What I will not accept, or acknowledge, is flamers. If you don't like my story, you don't have to read it.**_

_**Now, enough of me rambling. Hope you enjoy.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own "Game of Thrones" or "Gears of War". **_

* * *

Chapter 1: Arrival

* * *

Five years.

Jon could hardly believe it.

Five years since he'd seen his family. Five years since he was exiled to a futile existence beyond the Wall as a member of the now-defunct order of the Night's Watch. Five years since…

"This place still smells like pigshit," said a voice to his right.

Jon allowed a small smirk as the welcome sound of Tormund's vulgarity gave him a temporary reprieve from his depressing thoughts.

"You didn't have to come." Jon replied.

Tormund snorted in amusement. "And let you go south alone? The freefolk would skin me alive." Tormund shifted in his saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"I have Ghost." Jon said as he looked to his left. His faithful Direwolf, keeping pace a few yards away, turned his head to give a bark in agreement. "Admit it, you just came along because you'd be bored shitless otherwise."

"Whatever you say, King Crow." Tormund answered. "What does the Crippled King want with you anyway? Thought he was done with you after he took that iron chair."

Jon's smile fell at Tormund's question, "His message didn't say. Just that he needed me to come to Winterfell as soon as possible."

The raven Jon received from Bran had been a surprise, to say the least. Apart from a letter from Arya three months into his exile, in which she said she was mostly bored and missed him terribly, Jon had received no contact from his family in the five years he'd lived in exile. The shortness and urgency of the message, as well as the fact that it came from Bran, rather than Sansa, put Jon into a perpetual state of unease. One that only grew in severity as they went south of the Wall.

Jon hadn't been surprised when the snows north of the Wall had started to melt. With the Night King destroyed, the magic that gave the Land of Always Winter its name died with him. It had been a welcome change, one that allowed the freefolk to flourish, and Jon always assumed that something similar was happening in the south as well. But as Jon and his small entourage got closer and closer to Winterfell, he quickly realized that wasn't the case.

The day was overcast, with grey clouds filling the sky, blocking out the sun and creating a melancholic atmosphere. Most of the crop fields they passed were barren. Half the trees of the Wolfswood looked as though they were dying. And as the towers of Winterfell came into view, the grassy plains that surrounded the ancient seat of house Stark turned an ugly shade of pale brown. All of which made it glaringly obvious to Jon that something was _very_ wrong.

Tormund stayed silent until they came over the hill that had blocked the main approach to the castle from their view. "Well, whatever the fuck is going on, it looks like your brother isn't the only one in trouble."

Surrounding Winterfell was an army, with flags bearing the sigils of every house in the North, along with several major southern houses; Martell, Greyjoy, Lannister, and Tarly. The latter two caused a wave of anger to wash over Jon, but the guilt at the sight of the former two neutralized it.

Redonning his brooding mask, Jon urged his horse forward. Bannermen paused in their chores as they noticed the two men and the white direwolf walking through the camp. Most regarded them with mild curiosity or disinterest, but the Dornish and the Ironborn looked at Jon with thinly veiled anger and contempt. The North wasn't the only kingdom that remembered.

Jon and Tormund trotted through the gates, dismounting in the courtyard without fanfare. Jon looked around at his childhood home. The castle looked the same as the last time he saw it, minus the damage inflicted by the dead. Smallfolk bustled about performing their many duties. From inside the walls, it looked like just another summer day in the North.

As Jon spun slowly in place to take it all in, his gaze finally settled on the one that had summoned him.

Bran was seated in his wheelchair, with Podrick standing behind him and Brienne to his left. He met Jon's gaze with the same blank expression he had the last time they saw each other on that dock in King's Landing.

"Hello Jon." Bran stated. The last time this site greeted him, Jon had surged forward to embrace his long lost brother with joy and relief. But that was before his 'brother' had shattered his entire identity, used him to destroy the woman he loved, and tossed him aside once he was no longer of use to him. Jon returned the blank expression with one of his own.

"Bran," he nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to the figures standing to Bran's right. His jaw clenched, and he had to stop himself from scowling. "Sansa."

"Jon," she hesitated, taken aback by the thinly veiled hatred in his eyes, before adding, "it's good to see you."

"Where's Arya?" The biting tone of his question, as well as his choice not to return the sentiment or greet either of them by their titles, left everyone present momentarily stunned. The last time they were all together, Jon had been warm and kind, despite the somber atmosphere that leaving one's family created.

It was Bran who answered, "We don't know."

That was not the answer Jon was looking for, nor was it one he expected from the all-seeing Three Eyed Raven. Before Jon could ask what in seven hells he meant, Bran cut him off, "Come with us to the great hall. Best to catch you up with everyone else. A lot has happened since you left."

The way Bran phrased that, as though he had a choice in his isolation, stoked a fire inside him. But for now he bit his tongue and followed them to the great hall, where all the other lords were waiting. Jon had no idea what to expect, but he knew it couldn't be anything good.

* * *

Six months after Jon went north of the Wall, Sansa lost contact with Arya.

She had taken a fleet of ten ships, with the plan of sending one back every month with a report on her progress as well as any personal correspondence. If she found land, she was to leave half of her ships and then return home to get reinforcements. If she found nothing, she was to return with her fleet once they had sent back the fifth ship.

That ship did arrive. But when the rest of her fleet failed to return in the months that followed, Sansa grew more and more worried, sending more and more ships to try and find her beloved sister. In the two years following that fifth ship's arrival, Sansa had sent a total of 42 warships and 18 merchant vessels to find and bring back her sister, 60% of The North's Navy. None ever returned.

While Sansa and her kingdom tried and failed to deal with Arya's disappearance, Bran and his other six found themselves facing a similar, but far more alarming and damaging problem. Around the same time that Arya disappeared, all trade from Essos abruptly ceased. Where Sansa had sent dozens of ships, Bran sent hundreds, including a detachment of one hundred ships of Yara Greyjoy's Iron Fleet. Like Arya's missing fleet, none ever returned. And every time Bran tried to see what was happening, he was blocked.

The gravity of the situation became apparent by the end of the second year of Jon's exile. One third of Westeros' economy was dependent on Essosi trade. Textiles, crops, fertilizers, building materials. Nearly half of the potions and elixirs utilized by the Citadel and it's maesters were derived from healing herbs grown exclusively in Essos. As months turned to years, the Six Kingdoms, and more recently The North, started to suffer the effects.

Jon absorbed and processed all of this information as he stood in the great hall of Winterfell, quietly listening as his brother and sister went back and forth with their lords and ladies to try and figure out a solution. Or where to place blame…

"This must be the work of those savages that fought for the Mad Queen!" bellowed Lord Glover. Many northern lords nodded their heads in agreement.

"Daenerys' former allies swore a secession of hostilities, and even if they went back on it, they certainly wouldn't have the resources to do something of this scale." the king's Hand countered. Tyrion's statement fell on largely deaf ears. Amazingly, he actually turned to Jon, hoping he would be the calming voice of reason he once was.

But Jon wore neither sympathy nor concern on his face. In fact, the look that greeted Tyrion was one of complete, utter disgust, and...vindication?

Tyrion internally recoiled, his mouth falling open slightly in his shock and confusion. Jon Snow was one of the most compassionate and caring individuals Tyrion had ever met. The man had sacrificed everything to save the realm before. He could not comprehend why Jon would appear so indifferent to the crisis it was facing now.

What Tyrion failed to realize, was that the Jon Snow he knew didn't exist anymore…

As Jon learned of all that had happened during his exile, the complete debacle his supposed 'siblings' had lead their people into, he grew more and more angry with each new revelation. Everything he had ever done, every pain and hardship he had endured; being murdered by his own men. Fighting the Night King. Being betrayed and used by the people he thought were his family and friends, to drive the woman he loved into madness and despair, and then being manipulated by those same people again into **murdering** her once she finally fell to their machinations. All to be sent off to a life of isolation and loneliness as the guilt of what he had done slowly ate away at him.

It had all been for nothing.

Finding that out snapped something in Jon. As he looked at Tyrion, then Bran, and finally Sansa, the spark he felt when he arrived gave way to a steadily growing fire, and rings of amethyst flashed briefly around his irises.

"Why am I here?"

His question caused the room to go silent. He hadn't said a word since the meeting started. Sansa looked to Bran with a nervous expression on her face. He returned it with a nod.

"You were the closest to Daenerys...we were hoping you would know what was happening. If this was a contingency plan she had in the event of her death. Did she say anything to you, anything at all, that might have implied this would happen?" Sansa looked at him imploringly.

"If this is being done by her allies, we need to know, so we can organize a response." This was said by Samwell Tarly, standing across the room from where Jon stood by the door. "We need you, Jon." He had the audacity to give a warm smile.

You could hear a pin drop in silence that followed. Everyone looked expectantly at Jon, whose face was devoid of expression as he stared back at Sam. A small smirk formed on his lips. Then, without saying a word, he walked out of the great hall.

* * *

Jon made it halfway across the walkway above the northern gate before a flustered Sansa caught up with him.

"Jon, wait!" He stopped, but didn't turn around. Sansa took it as a sign he might be willing to listen after all, "We need your he…"

"Five years."

His tone was low, and dangerous. It made Sansa stop short a few paces away, Sam nearly running into her from behind, with Bran being wheeled up behind him by Podrick. Brienne, Sam, Tyrion, and Yara Greyjoy followed close behind.

"Five years, I've lived with the guilt of what I've done… The part I played in driving the woman I loved to madness. Murdering her, for succumbing to the machinations of a spiteful, bitter, ungrateful people, and their leaders. _My family_. " He bit out with disgust as he turned on them. The look he gave Sansa and Sam made their blood run cold.

There was now a noticeable ring of violet around his irises, and his fists were clenched and trembling with barely contained rage. He turned to Sam first.

"Daenerys executed your father, a man who disowned you and treated you with utter disdain and contempt, and who would have killed you if he thought he could get away with it without losing face. And you brother, who was too proud to stand up for you. She gave them a choice, life or death. And they chose death. _They _chose." His tone was biting, "In response, you decided to tear apart my entire world, telling me of my parentage, knowing it would drive a wedge between us. Completely uncaring of what it did to me, so long as it negatively affected her. And _YOU_…" His eyes narrowed at Sansa. She flinched at the hatred she saw in them.

"She saved you. She saved your people, the entire North, the entire _continent_. She watched two of her dragons, _two of her children_, nearly her entire army, and her two closest friends _die_, all to protect you from an evil witch and an army of dead men. And how did you repay her?"

He paused, as if giving them a chance to defend themselves. The faces of everyone present were filled with shock and shame. All except Bran, who wore his signature blank mask. And Yara, who looked on with smug, almost proud satisfaction as the people who betrayed her queen were torn apart by Jon's verbal assault.

"She offered you friendship, and you spat in her face. She saved your lives, and you took away hers. Oh, I know I played my part. But I also know I NEVER would have done what I did, nor would she, had it not been for all of you." Jon had to close his eyes to stave off the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, before he finished. "You used my parentage, a secret you _swore_ beneath a godswood tree never to tell, as a weapon. You betrayed me. Used me as a tool to do your dirty work. And once it was done? You cast me aside, banished me to the edge of the world, never to be heard from again. Now you've lost Arya, the only one left of our family that treated me like I was part of it from the moment she was born, the only one left in this world who loved and accepted me for the man I am. And you led the entire realm, a realm that I lost everything including my life to protect, into chaos. Tell me _your graces_, if your treachery and hubris hadn't pushed Westeros to the brink of collapse, would I ever have seen either of you again?"

Jon's questioning look turned to one of complete heartbreak at the silence that followed. He closed his eyes as his head fell, a sense of resignation filling his entire being.

Sansa, tears brimming in her eyes, tried reaching out to him, "Jon, I..." but she was stopped as his head snapped back up, his gaze filled with fire of his ancestors.

"**THAT'S NOT MY NAME!"**

His shout echoed across the courtyard. The entire castle fell silent. Jon huffed, reigning in his anger before he spoke again, filled with a terrible resolve.

"Jon Snow...was your brother…and that's not who I am anymore. I never was. You made that clear when you used and betrayed me." Sansa let out a small gasp, tears spilling over and starting to stream down her face at what she was hearing.

"My name, my real name…is Aegon Targaryen. Trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen…" the eyes of those who weren't already aware of this, Yara among them, widened in shock. But Jon pressed on.

"...Daenerys was my family. My _real_ family. And I threw her, and her love, away. Because I thought it was the only way of protecting the greater good…" his eyes were blazing as he stared daggers at Sansa, "Turns out, I killed the wrong queen."

Sansa's mouth dropped open in horror, while Brienne's hand drifted to the hilt of Oathkeeper. Something that did not go unnoticed by Jon, who merely scoffed at the gesture.

"Oh don't worry. I've no intention of executing you for your treason now. You deserve to share the fate of your people. Death would only be a mercy to you now." the coldness of Jon's tone, and the cruelty of his words, broke Sansa's heart.

"Goodbye Sansa." And with that, he turned his back to them, leaving his former family and friends to their sorry fates.

But he only took two steps, before he heard something that made him freeze. A sound not heard in Westeros for over five years.

A booming, ear-splitting roar.

Suddenly, out of the thick clouds hanging low in the sky to the east, came a large, dark, bat-like shape. But what followed next rendered everyone present paralyzed with even more fear than they ever thought possible. As nine more shapes descended behind it. Each answering the largest one's roar with one of their own.

TEN dragons. Closing fast.

Screams and shouts quickly filled the air as soldiers scrambled to try and find cover. The dragons descended, flying low in a circle about two hundred yards beyond the perimeter of the encampment surrounding Winterfell. One by one, they all landed in the field before Jon and the others, who stood watching from the battlements. The troops below scattered and separated, creating a clear stretch of land and completely unobstructed view of the dragons. That was when everyone noticed something strange; they were carrying _people_.

As the dragons landed, dozens of figures slid off each of their backs. Men and women, all clad in some kind of strange, blue armour that nobody had ever seen before. It was thick, and covered the soldiers' legs, torsos, and forearms. The helmets were strange too, covering a person's entire face, with glass where the eyes should be. The soldiers all formed up around their respective dragons, drawing what Jon could only assume were weapons of some kind, and standing in a relaxed attention facing the forces surrounding Winterfell.

Finally, the largest dragon landed fifty yards away from the battlements, his feet and wing claws pounding into the ground as he let out a long, booming roar. He was twice the size of all the other dragons, twice the size that he was the last time those present had seen him, his scales a dark blood red. A chill ran down Jon's spine as he realized who it was.

Drogon.

By now, all of the lords and ladies gathered in the castle had converged on Jon's position, trembling in fear and disbelief at what they were seeing. Their attention was drawn to the figures on Drogon's back as he lowered his head and neck, allowing his passengers to disembark.

Unlike the other dragons, there were only six figures on the back of Drogon. Three women soldiers, two men, and a small child.

As one of the women helped the child down from Drogon, the other two, along with the men, turned and walked a dozen yards towards Winterfell. The one who seemed to be in charge stopped, her gaze raking over the lords and ladies gathered on the battlements. She paused briefly at Sansa, before settling on Jon, who stared back with a calm expression, despite the nerves threatening to overwhelm his senses. A tense silence followed, the only sounds being the chirping of the dragons that were gathered before Winterfell.

Then, the lead woman lifted her arms and took off her helmet. The next second found Jon staring into the eyes of his only true sibling left in the world.

"A-Arya!?" Sansa sobbed out, relief flooding her system. Jon stared at her in stunned silence, forgetting the danger they all seemed to be in as he tried to process this miraculous turn of events.

His look of happiness and relief turned to one of confusion as Arya's expression remained passive. She looked over her shoulder, Jon and the others following her gaze to the woman and child still standing next to the massive red dragon.

"_Udrāzmio, issi ao mazilībagon_?"

Jon and Sansa both blinked in surprise as Arya spoke what was near-flawless High Valyrian. Nodding almost imperceptibly, the other woman walked forward, coming to stop a few paces behind Arya and her men, answering his sister with, "_Kessa, ānogar ānograro._"

Jon did not understand the words coming from his sister or her companion. But he did understand what she said next, and the words she spoke drained the color from his face…

"_**Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor**_**."**

All the air left Jon's lungs as the woman lifted her helmet from her head, her lustrous silver hair falling free to just below her chin as her amethyst eyes met his, her lips quirking in a small smile.

"Hello, Jon. It's good to see you."

_Daenerys._

* * *

_**Translations:**_

_**Udrāzmio, issi ao mazilībagon = Commander, are you set**_

_**Kessa, ānogar ānograro = Yes, blood of my blood**_

_**Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor = A dragon is not a slave**_

_**And that's chapter one! Let me know what you think.**_

_**To see what the armour looks like, go to 'gearsofwar dot fandom dot com' and search "COG Armor". For the weapons that the soldiers are carrying, search "Mark 3 Lancer Assault Rifle".**_


	2. Introductions

_**Author's Note: Wow! I am blown away by the positive reception this story has had thus far. Thank you all for your favorites and follows! In celebration, I decided to pound this out for you.**_

_**Enjoy**_

* * *

Chapter 2: Introductions

* * *

Everyone stood frozen in place as they looked at the ghosts that were standing before them. No one moved. No one breathed. Daenerys stood just as still, the smile never leaving her face as she continued looking into the eyes of her beloved, the very picture of confidence and serenity.

As his surprise turned to relief and color returned to his face, he finally answered her smile with one of his own. However it was short-lived, as both their smiles fell when they noticed movement to Jon's left. Brienne had shifted to stand protectively next to Sansa, who had finally shaken herself out of her stupor.

"H-How are you alive!?" she stuttered out in trepidation. In that moment, the silver crown resting atop Sansa's head was the only indicator that she was a queen. Her voice trembled as it carried over the castle and the fields surrounding it. Her eyes were wide with confusion and fear, and her face was pale. The glare Daenerys gave her was one of disgust, hatred, and impatience.

"If you had **bothered** to learn anything about me other than my parentage, you would know that before coming to Westeros, I had liberated hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children from the bounds of slavery. **Shocking** as it may be to the likes of you, **some** people actually appreciated my actions...including the Red Priests and Priestesses of Asshai." As Sansa's mouth opened and closed, confusion painting her features, Dany tilted her head and smirked in amusement. "The same people who brought Jon back from the dead…after **he** was betrayed." Her smirk became a scowl.

All at once Sansa's look of confusion vanished. Replaced, to Jon's horror and alarm, with one of defiance.

"Archers! No…" but before Sansa could finish giving her order, Dany's voice boomed over hers as she barked one of her own.

"_**Nesh bē!"**_

Suddenly, all of Dany's soldiers dropped to a knee, making themselves smaller targets as they aimed down the barrels of their weapons at the startled force of ten thousand men gathered around the battlements of Winterfell. Simultaneously, each of the dragons spread their wings wide and roared as one, in an unprecedented display of unity and power.

The hopelessness of the situation was like a slap to the face as Sansa realized the balance of power had shifted irrevocably in Daenarys' favor. As she shifted her gaze back to the formerly fallen queen, her stomach sank as she saw who else had drawn their weapon.

Arya, along with the three other soldiers who stood guard around Daenerys, leveled her weapon squarely at Sansa's head as she stood to Dany's left. Anger and hatred filling her eyes as she stared down her sights at the stunned Queen in the North.

Arya's weapon was different from the others; it looked like a crossbow, but there was no cocking stirrup, and the limbs of the bow were vertical instead of horizontal. The bolt was unique as well, the head being absurdly large, almost the size of an apple, with a green glow emanating from just behind the tip.

As the roars of the dragons died down, Daenerys turned her head to the right, her eyes never leaving Sansa's.

"_**Turgon Nudho, va nyke!**_"

A male soldier, wielding the same weapon as Arya, jogged over from a golden brown dragon and took up the same stance as Ayra to the right of Daenerys. He trained his aim to the right of Jon, who turned and noticed that Bran had moved there at some point over the last two minutes.

That was when it occurred to Jon that nobody was aiming at him. In the same instant, he also realized that none of Dany's soldiers had trained their weapons on any of the Ironborn who were gathered among the forces below. Something that did **not** go unnoticed by those men, or their commander.

Glancing over Bran's chair, Jon locked gazes with Yara Greyjoy. In that split second, understanding flashed between them, as Yara remembered what Jon had said to the Starks not five minutes ago. As Jon turned away, he shared a brief look with Tormund, who nodded imperceptibly in acknowledgement and acceptance of the unspoken shift in allegiance. Meanwhile, Yara let her gaze fall to her men below, who had looked to her when things had seemed to go sour and, like Tormund, also noticed her and Jon's exchange. She rested her hands on the battlements, giving a subtle signal for her men to hold fast and be ready.

When Jon, Yara, and the Ironborn soldiers looked to Daenerys again, her gaze appeared to still be locked on Sansa.

But, as Dany slowly brought her hands behind her back, she gave an almost imperceptible nod. An utterly innocuous gesture, completely ignored by all others present.

But one that told Jon, Yara, and the Ironborn everything they needed to know.

Daenerys had seen it too.

* * *

As Daenerys gave her silent signal, she took a deep breath to tamp down the excitement and relief that surged through her system. After all these years, Yara and the Ironborn were still loyal to her. Willing students were always better than reluctant ones, and the sooner she could get the people gathered here to become proficient in the use of their weapons and equipment, the sooner those same people could teach others in turn. She didn't know how much time they had before the enemy made its way across the Narrow Sea.

But what gave Daenerys the most hope, and filled her with more joy than she thought possible, was knowing that Jon was with her as well, and seeing his reaction to her return.

Sure, at first he had the same look of surprise on his face as everyone else did. A completely understandable reaction, and one that she expected.

But where she saw fear and terror in the eyes of everyone else, his held something else entirely.

_Love comes in at the eyes._

She hadn't been able to hold back the small smile of barely contained joy that adorned her face at seeing the love in his eyes. She honestly never thought she would again.

She'd had five years to reflect on the events that led to her death at his hands. Five years of facing creatures that made the Wight Walkers look like children playing at war. Five years of absolute hell. It certainly gave her some perspective.

She had become everything she set out to destroy, killed hundreds of thousands of people in a fit of anger and despair, and had been more than ready to do it again if she deemed it necessary. She had turned into a monster, a tyrant. Someone who would never have been able to survive, let alone lead others to survive, against the force that was now bearing down on all of them.

In light of all that, she had actually been grateful he'd killed her when he had. So that by the time her forces had been routed and forced to retreat to Westeros, her biggest fear had been having to face him. Seeing the same sorrow, loss, and regret she'd seen in his eyes on that fateful day so many years ago.

But she didn't. And when he answered her smile with one of his own, any and all apprehension was banished from her mind as her heart soared.

Then, in an act of truly _annoying _consistency, the person most **directly **responsible for her fall to madness **and **her death, decided to open her mouth.

And now here they were.

Having gained the support of both Jon and Yara, Daenerys crossed her arms behind her back and relaxed her stance. No one, not even Bran, had noticed the exchange. All attention being drawn to the Torque Bows being aimed at the two monarchs' heads, and the identity of the man who had just took up a position on her right.

"You remember Greyworm, don't you?" she narrowed her gaze at Sansa, before breaking it to regard the other lords and ladies present, settling on Tyrion, "He remembers you."

Tyrion gulped, clearing his throat at finding it dry, before forcing a smile. "Alright. I realize, passions are high. But there's no need for things to turn violent, your grace..."

"**Commander!"**

Everyone jolted in surprise, before seeking out the source of the voice. It was Arya, her weapon still aimed steadily at Sansa. Daenerys smirked with smug satisfaction at the look of surprise that formed on Sansa's face. At the confused look on Tyrion's, she addressed her third in command.

"_Jikagon va, ñuha mandia."_

Lowering her weapon, Arya smiled with pride, "_Krenyikhé, ñuha mandia._"

She cleared her throat, raking her gaze over all who stood before her, before speaking aloud to all those present, "**Before you, stands **_**Daenerys Stormborn,**_ **of **_**House Targaryen**_**. **_**General **_**of the Coalition of Human Resistance. **_**Commander**_ **of the Wolf Pack, and Mother of Dragons!**"

* * *

As Arya finished rattling off Daenerys' new list of titles, her face and voice filled with pride, Sansa felt as if her entire world was burning down around her…

In the last ten minutes, her brother had disowned her as his sister. The woman she despised, and whose deceased status had often been the only source of comfort and relief to her in recent years; had shown up at her doorstep, alive. Along with a host of soldiers, the small size of which was negated by the presence of not one, but TEN DRAGONS!

And now her sister, also thought by all to be long dead, had turned up alive as well. Only to reveal that she was totally loyal to Daenerys Targaryen. The same Daenerys Targaryen that Jon had declared his love and devotion for just minutes before.

Her mind scrambled as she desperately tried to figure a way out of this situation.

Trying to attack Daenerys had clearly been a mistake. One born of fear and desperation. As satisfying as it would have been, Winterfell wouldn't have stood a chance against the wrath of a dozen angry dragons. And now she had shown her hand.

Daenerys had known Sansa didn't want her to rule Westeros, and that Sansa had betrayed both her and Jon to ensure that outcome.

But now Daenerys knew that Sansa didn't just not want her as a ruler; Sansa wanted her DEAD. That information was DANGEROUS to give an enemy. It was always better to keep them guessing as to her intentions, keep them off balance. That way she had some measure of control in any given situation.

Sansa had given up the last vestiges of that control the moment she'd called for her archers. The only way she could even begin to get it back was by submitting to the now unfamiliar entity at her gates, and letting them into her home. She needed to know more about what was going on. Right now, all she knew was what Daenerys had chosen to show her.

As silence reigned following Arya's introduction, Sansa glanced over at Bran, who after a brief pause, nodded to her in understanding. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she exhaled as she turned back to the forces gathered before her home, and locked eyes with Daenerys.

"Welcome to Winterfell, General." then turned to her guards, "Open the gates."

* * *

As Sansa ordered her men to open the gates, Daenerys let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. The hardest part was over. She looked to Arya, whose face nearly split as she smiled in relief and excitement at having returned home after five years.

"Get her inside." she gestured to the child hiding behind her. Arya nodded, reaching for the child who easily took the hand that was offered. Daenerys looked up to the battlements, and met eyes with Jon again, the relief on his face matching her own.

Suddenly, Drogon chirped as his head shot up in attention, slowly turning his head to glance over his shoulder. Daenerys looked to him, following his gaze towards the eastern horizon, puzzled by the lack of anything of interest. But as Drogon turned fully around, the other dragons following suit as he let out a low, menacing growl, she heard it.

A low rumble coming from the fields to the east.

_**No...It's too soon.**_

She spun around and locked gazes with Arya, "Get inside, **NOW!**" Arya didn't hesitate, breaking into a run for the slowly opening gates, her men following close behind. Daenerys then turned to Grey worm, who nodded in understanding before running over to unhook the clasps holding the crates to Drogon's sides. Putting her helmet back on and pulling the Lancer from her back, she shouted an order to her men,

"_**Wolf Pack, form cover!**_"

* * *

Jon watched the scene unfold in growing terror and alarm. For the first time since she arrived, and only the second time in his life, Daenerys had sported a look of fear on her face. And if the circumstances of the first time were anything to go by, whatever was coming was very, very bad.

At her command, her soldiers started removing large, rippling metal crates from the dragons, each one taking six soldiers to carry. They arranged the crates in what amounted to a dotted line about seventy yards away from Winterfell's walls, leaving gaps wide enough for two people walking side by side between each of the crates, which in turn were roughly the length of two people laying end to end. The fire line stretched along the entire eastern side of the castle, forming a static half-wall of cover that Daenerys and her men quickly took cover behind. Once relieved of their cargo, each of the dragons took to the skies, ascending rapidly until they were out of sight within the clouds.

"ARCHERS TO THE LINE!" Jon watched as Yara's Ironborn quickly answered Daenerys' call, grabbing their quivers and taking up positions amongst her men behind the cover they had created.

Having seen enough, Jon and Yara made their way down from the battlements. Approaching the gate, they met up with Arya and the three soldiers who accompanied her and the child to through the gates, the child still holding Arya's hand like a lifeline.

"Arya, what's going on? What's out there? Who is this?" Jon had noticed the child form the moment Daenerys helped her off of Drogon. Something about the child seemed familiar, but Jon couldn't place where he had seen her before.

"Well, hello to you too, Jon." she shot back, "In answer to your questions: We're about to be attacked; the things that have kept me from home for the last five years; and none of your damn business."

Suddenly a muffled explosion could be heard outside the castle, the ground shaking with the power of a small earthquake, as one of the men with Arya looked through the open gate. As Jon followed his line of sight, his whole body froze with a fear he hadn't known since he first laid eyes on the Night King.

A dozen armoured, spider-like creatures the size of Drogon had appeared on the horizon seemingly out of nowhere. Each one spread its legs wide as they let out high-pitched, earsplitting roars that carried over the fields of Winterfell, sending chills down the spines of everyone present. One of the soldiers that accompanied Arya, the woman, pulled a large, cylindrical weapon from her back, and yelled what must have been the name of these horrifying creatures.

"CORPSERS!"

The Locust Horde had arrived.

* * *

_**Translations:**_

_**Nesh bē = Arms up**_

_**Turgon Nudho, va nyke! = Grey Worm, on me!**_

_**Jikagon va, ñuha mandia. = Go on, my sister.**_

_**Krenyikhé, ñuha mandia. = Gladly, my sister.**_

_**For looking up things Gears of War, type in gearsofwar dot fandom dot com (fanfiction won't let me type web addresses for some reason).**_

_**Weapons to look up: Torque Bow(carried by Arya and Grey Worm), and Boomshot Grenade Launcher(carried by the female soldier that accompanied Arya inside Winterfell)**_

_**Enemies to look up: Corpser**_

_**Next chapter, the Locust Horde makes its debut in Westeros, and Sansa gets a reality check. **_


	3. First Contact

_**Hope everyone had a good week! I'm not gonna lie, this was difficult to write. Trying to make a "battle" between (mostly) medieval men-at-arms and bloodthirsty monsters armed with 21st century weaponry both realistic and interesting is not as easy as I thought it would be.**_

_**This chapter was edited with the help of fanfiction writer Longclaw 1-6. Thanks buddy, you are my inspiration!**_

_**Hope you all enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 3: First Contact

* * *

With all three hundred of the men she brought hunkered down and hidden behind their mobile cover, alongside a hundred of Yara's Ironborn, Daenerys peeked over the crate she had taken cover behind. The Corpsers had retreated below ground, much to her relief. But in their wake, THOUSANDS of Locust poured from the ten massive emergence holes they had created nearly a mile away. Even from such a distance, she could hear the war cries that had heralded the fall of every city in Essos. She could not let that happen today. Not here.

It would be a few minutes before the Locust were in range, so Daenerys took this opportunity to observe the force bearing down on them, trusting her men to wait patiently for her command.

The Locust had emerged a mile away from the walls of the castle. Once they covered half the distance between their emergence holes and the castle, the flood became a trickle, before ceasing entirely. _Good_. That meant this wasn't the entire horde, just a small detachment. Probably an advance force meant to take this castle before She and her people arrived. Only about twenty thousand or so, a paltry amount against the resources at her disposal.

Most crucially, and to Dany's immense satisfaction, they were charging in full view over open terrain. Ignoring siege tactics in favor of rushing the Westerosi fortifications. Something they had learned long ago was a fatal mistake when attacking Daenerys and her people. Which meant they didn't know Daenerys, or her dragons, were here. Beneath her helmet, a wry smile spread across her face.

Ducking back behind cover, she turned around and was momentarily stunned into silence by what she saw. All TEN THOUSAND of the Stark bannermen had joined the Ironborn and her men gathered behind her fireline. All looking to her with rapt attention, awaiting whatever orders she had. These were people who no doubt would've spit on her boots just five minutes ago, but now here they were, ready to follow her into battle. Mentally shaking her head in disbelief, she addressed those closest to her.

"Alright, everyone pay attention, and pass the word along the line; every archer and crossbowman is to take up position behind my men. When **they** give the word, rise above cover and pick your targets. The range of the enemy's weapons is greater than yours, so standing to fire at the same time we do is not only a waste of time, but provides the enemy an opportunity to kill you before you can kill them. Aim for their heads, your arrows and bolts won't be able to penetrate their armour, and focus fire on the ones wearing only shoulder pauldrons whenever possible. Those are the officers and grenadiers; it is **vitally** important that we kill as many of them as possible before they reach our lines."

She didn't want to think about what it would be like for the men armed only with broadswords and plate armour if the Locust got close enough to use their gnashers and grenades. The armour worn by Daenerys and her Wolves could take a beating, but the Locust weaponry would tear through the westerosi men at arms like they were paper. She took another glance over cover. The Locust were about a quarter mile away.

"Once they get within about thirty yards of our line, my dragons will rain fire from above, then my men will move forward to mop up what's left**. UNDERSTOOD!?**"

"**HAOO, HAOO!" **The Stark bannermen joined in the war cry of her people, igniting the blood of the dragon coursing through her veins, before breaking off to inform the rest of the line of her plan. Daenerys turned and nodded to Grey Worm before peaking back above cover. The Locust were about thirty seconds away from being within range of their 'heavy weapons'. Daenerys was just relieved that she had the foresight to bring them along.

"**READY!"** holding up a closed fist above and behind her to signal her men along the line, she and Grey Worm, along with two Wolves behind every other crate, flipped the latches on the crates in front of them, putting their Lancers on their backs in preparation, knowing they wouldn't need them for this particular encounter. The Locust were still charging at full tilt, the ones at the very front only just now catching a glimpse of the red three-headed dragon embossed on the metal barriers a hundred yards in front of them. By the time they realized what, or rather **who** they were charging at, it was way too late.

_Three…_

_Two… _

_One!_

"_**MANAERAGON VULCANS!"**_

In a single, fluid motion, the heavy Valyrian steel lids of every other container were flipped forward and slid to the right, sealing the gaps between half of the crates to further increase the amount of cover at their disposal. Simultaneously, Daenerys, Grey Worm, and eighteen other Wolves reached inside the crates in front of them. One man in each team of two lifting up a massive cylindrical weapon, the cylinder itself made up of ten smaller tubes connected to a main body, while the other man lifted up a large, metal belt that fed into the body of each weapon. Daenerys smiled as she saw the first line of Drones try, and fail, to halt in their tracks. Pushed along with the momentum of the charging mass behind them.

"_**PERZYS!"**_

A loud buzz roared over the Stark-Targaryen line as ten solid, continuous streams of hot steel shot out over the field, cutting through the charging mass of Drones like a scythe through wheat. The locust pushed on, tight clusters slipping through the gaps in the Vulcans' lines of fire, only to be scattered by the explosive shells fired from the second half of Daenerys' heavy weapons cache; fifty men and women, armed with Boomshots. Devastating at this range, their high-explosive rounds blew apart the tight formations of the Locust Horde, separating them into more isolated targets, which in turn were gunned down by the remaining two hundred and thirty members of Daenerys's elite Wolf Pack honor guard.

The Locust were caught completely by surprise. Expecting to face a primitive force armed with nothing more than swords and spears, most hadn't even bothered to draw their weapons yet, wanting to get up close and personal with the cowardly heretics of 'Westeros'. By the time their main mass had gotten within fifty yards of the humans' lines, they had lost HALF of their force, having to use the large piles of the bodies of their fallen brothers as cover just so they could return fire.

Over the cacophony of gunfire and explosions, Daenerys could hear herself and the men gathered with her yelling war cries of their own, howling in exultation at the outgunned and outmatched Locust horde. The westerosi were doing well, firing thousands of arrows and bolts at the Locust that slipped through their line of fire, felling Grenadier Elites by the hundreds.

Even so, the Locust did not take this punishment sitting down, starting to return fire once they realized their adversaries were armed with more than crossbows and longswords. An explosion went off about ten yards to Dany's left, an enemy grenade taking out a dozen stark bannermen, and wounding two of her own. Her entire right side was suddenly covered in arterial spray, as one of her Wolves was shot through the neck. As she predicted, the westerosi forces started dropping like flies, their armour doing nothing to stop the enemy fire. The Locust actually started to focus their fire on the Westerosi, knowing that if they could eliminate them, Daenerys and her people would be far easier to overwhelm.

But as she continued to fire her Vulcan over the battlefield before her, she noticed that some of the Locust rear forces were starting to run back to their holes; something she could not allow.

_**It's time, my children. Cut them off, then cut them down.**_

A moment later, Daenerys's children dove from the clouds with deafening roars. Drogon breathed a line of fire in front of the Emergence holes to cut off the Locust retreat, while the rest of her children unleashed their deadly payloads on the defenseless masses caught in the open. Annihilating any remaining unit cohesion within the Locust ranks. It was time to deliver the killing blow.

"_**Zokli! Dīnagon bē!"**_

As one, Daenerys' people leapt over their cover and followed her in a charge on the Locust horde. Some of the bannermen, wanting a taste of the action after sitting on their asses for most of the ordeal, charged with them. Cutting down the Drones that remained as they stood in stunned disbelief at the inconceivable turn of events. Between the Starks, Ironborn, Wolves, and Dany's Dragons, the remaining Locusts never stood a chance. Ten minutes after the battle was joined, silence returned to the fields of Winterfell.

Lowering her Lancer, blood dripping from its bayonet, Daenerys looked out over the field of corpses. Among the carnage, locust weapons and armour gleamed in the sun. Suddenly, the full scope of her good fortune hit her like a lightning strike. She turned to some of her Wolves, "Salvage everything you can from the battlefield. Lead the Westerosi, show them what to look for. Once the field is cleared, search the Emergence holes as well. We've been given an incredible opportunity to get ahead of this invasion, we will not get another." Wordlessly, her soldiers complied, splitting up to lead groups of Starks and Ironborn in the salvage operation. Next, she sought out her second in command, finding him back at the fire line directing the efforts to help the wounded.

"_Turgon Nudho," _Her oldest living friend turned to her, "_maghagon iā dyni iemnȳ sīr kostis ūndegon ziry."_ He nodded curtly in response, before leading a squad of Wolves out onto the field.

The rest of her Wolves started to break down the portable cover, getting it ready to be moved into the castle proper. Daenerys took a moment to regard the crates with appreciation, relieved beyond measure that Arya's masterstroke of tactical efficiency had come to fruition.

Made of Valyrian steel, the crates served not only as impenetrable cover from enemy fire, but as solid, secure mobile munitions platforms. More than once, her soldiers had to open one up to refill their stock of ammunition, or switch out one weapon for another. She would have to remember to thank her sister for her relentless badgering to take the crates with them when they left their main evacuation force at Dragonstone to do reconnaissance. Their losses would have been far greater without them.

Six of her Wolves lay dead amongst her ranks, a miracle given the force that they had faced. The same couldn't be said for the Westerosi, THOUSANDS of Stark bannermen littering the ground. Sorrow pooled in her stomach at the sight.

The men and women who followed her to Westeros were the last remnants of Essosi culture. The last traces of her golden years before her desire for the Iron Throne nearly destroyed her. After five years of fighting and bleeding alongside them, they were her brothers, her sisters; her family. Like Grey Worm, Arya, and…

Her eyes widened behind her helmet as her head snapped to the tops of the walls of Winterfell. Dozens of corpses hung from the battlements, Arya's squad walking among them, searching for survivors.

One of them, cradling a Boomshot, stopped mid-stride and looked up from her task. As if she could sense the searching, worried gaze of her leader upon her. Looking down from her vantage point, she locked eyes with Daenerys, before making a sweeping gesture with her arm at the dead around her. She then pounded her fist to her chest, and gave a thumbs-up. No casualties.

Daenerys dropped her head and let out a huge sigh of relief, before looking back at the soldier on the wall. She made the same sweeping gesture, pounding her chest as well before holding up five fingers then one. Six Wolves dead. Nodding her head in understanding, the soldier turned and walked out of sight, presumably to relay their casualties to Arya. They would do a full count of the wounded later.

With that done, Daenerys turned back to her men, holding the crates aloft as they awaited her orders. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she nodded for them to proceed, leading the way towards the gates of Winterfell. It was time for a reunion.

* * *

Jon stood in the courtyard, brooding up a storm as he watched the denizens of Winterfell scurry about in a frenzy. Reeling in the wake of their first encounter with this terrifying new enemy.

Half the Northern lords had been killed, along with most of the men atop the walls. Of those that were still alive, half were wounded, including Tormund. To Jon's morbid relief, Lord Glover was among the dead, his head having exploded all over Sansa when the battle was joined.

Less auspicious was the death of Podrick, who had shoved Bran to the ground to protect him from the oncoming fire. Brienne was taking the loss especially hard. She stood at Sansa's side, gripping a bleeding whole in her shoulder where a bullet had lodged itself, after she too had put a Stark's safety before her own.

Sansa, the left half of her face and body covered with drying blood and grey matter, stood alongside Sam, Brienne, Bran, Tyrion and Yara with Jon in the courtyard. Ayra stood before them, waiting for a situation report from one of her people.

Holding her right hand was the raven-haired little girl, having never left her side for the duration of the battle. In turn, the little girl's right hand was engaged in petting Ghost, who for some reason had taken an immediate liking to the child. The child's gaze was fixed on Jon, fascination brimming in her amethyst eyes. Eyes he had seen only once before in his life.

He was pulled from his musings as a figure approached Arya. The same woman who had accompanied Arya inside the castle at the start of the battle. They exchanged a few words in High Valyrian, Jon only being able to catch what was probably the soldier's name. Kinvara, was it? He wasn't sure. As the soldier walked away, Arya turned to them with a worried look on her face.

"What is it?" Jon asked, the unease in his stomach growing heavier with each passing second.

Arya let out a sigh of sorrow before answering, "We lost six men outside the walls. Along with half of your Ironborn." She addressed her last statement to Yara, remorse filling her features and tone. "I'm sorry."

Yara nodded solemnly. But before she could offer her own condolences, she was cut off.

"_SIX MEN?" _Sansa spat, looking at Arya like she'd just grown two heads. "We just lost the leaders of HALF the Northern families, along with Gods know how many of the men that came with them. To an army of monsters that came out of NOWHERE!" She paused, rearing her head back as an affronted look adorned her face, "And your first concern is the loss of SIX MEN?!" Her tone was incredulous.

Arya glared at her, clenching her jaw in anger and disgust. Jon and Yara wore similar expressions, indignation tinging Yara's at Sansa's blatant omission her own men. Men that Arya had included in her count of the fallen.

"The only reason ANY of us are still alive, is because of those men. MY men; Daenerys' men." Arya ground out with barely contained rage.

"Oh yes, Daenerys! The same woman that burned an entire city to the ground!" Sansa rolled her eyes, sarcasm tainting her tone.

"A crime I paid for with my life, _Lady _Stark…"

Everyone spun around, staring wide-eyed at the resurrected Valyrian beauty standing not five feet away from them, her armour covered in a thin film of dried blood, helmet tucked under her arm. A scowl on her face as she stared daggers at Sansa.

"Be grateful...that I've chosen _not _to hold you accountable for yours." the threatening tone of her voice was unmistakable.

"M-mine?" Sansa's voice trembled, her regal facade slipping. Daenerys only smirked in amusement, before adopting a tone of mock confusion.

"Breaking the oath of silence you made to Jon, in the shadow of a Weirwood Tree? Telling Tyrion of his parentage in a plot to commit regicide? Not to mention the ungrateful reception I received upon my arrival here five years ago, the _first_ time I saved you from an army of monsters. _And _your attempt to have me killed again today. Or, did you think I had forgotten?"

Sansa tried to rein in her emotions, before shooting out a retort.

"You shouldn't be alive to begin with. All of these men, they're dead because of you. You brought this terror to our shores, didn't you?"

Suddenly, Daenerys punched Sansa in the stomach. _HARD_. She doubled over in pain, coughing as the air was forced from her lungs. She had no time to recover however, as Daenerys brought her knee up to connect with her face, sending Sansa sprawling as blood gushed from her nose.

Brienne made a move to protect her, but the sound of steel scraping against a scabbard stopped her, finding the rippling Valyrian steel of Longclaw pointed at her neck. Jon shaking his head side to side with a withering gaze.

Sansa groaned, hands coming up to cup her nose as blood continued to pour out of it. Until a sharp pain shot through her scalp, as Daenerys grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the courtyard, Sansa shouting and yelping in pain the whole way. Everyone in the courtyard was frozen in place as they watched the absurd spectacle play out before them.

Daenerys paused in the middle of the courtyard, still gripping Sansa's hair as Grey Worm and her men came through the gates, heading forming a procession that went through the courtyard and into the Godswood. But Dany's focus was on Grey Worm, who was dragging a partly mangled, but still intact corpse into the center of the courtyard. He tossed it in front of his general, before taking a step back to let her proceed.

"LOOK at that shit!" She thrust Sansa's face to just within a few inches of the open maw of the dead Grenadier Elite that stared back at her. After the Battle against the Night King and his Wight Walkers, Sansa thought she knew what monsters looked like. She thought she knew fear. She had no idea how wrong she was.

Its face was a blend of human and reptile, and the skin was a ghastly pale white. Not like the frozen, icy skin of the Wight Walkers. No, this was different, sickly, like it had never spent a single day in the sun. Its teeth were sharp and jagged, designed to rip flesh from bone. And its eyes…even dead they were blazing, glowing red, as if filled with the fires of all seven hells.

Daenerys leaned down to whisper in her ear,

"See that?" her tone was menacing, cold, biting, "There are _millions more_, just like this one, burrowing their way under the Narrow Sea as we speak." she twisted her fist, pulling harder on Sansa's hair and jerking her head up so she was facing her. "I came here to SAVE you from these monsters. To SAVE Westeros; AGAIN. I lost an ENTIRE CONTINENT to these creatures already. Almost every person who ever stood by me, dead, or enslaved. I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen here as well. And no spoiled, useless, self-righteous BITCH is going to stand in my way."

Throwing Sansa to the side, she called out to the crowd of onlookers, "Kinvara!"

Jon turned as a woman, the same woman that had spoken to Arya a minute ago, stepped forward. She removed her helmet, revealing a beautiful woman with blood red hair and matching eyes.

"Take twenty men, and secure the crypts. We need to know how deep they go, and seal off any that may go beneath the granite foundation of the castle. I realize if there was any weakness in the foundation, the Locust would have used it in the attack, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I don't want ANY surprises."

At this Jon turned, casting a questioning gaze at Daenerys. She smiled before elaborating.

"The hot springs that Winterfell is built over, create a solid granite slab. It acts as a barrier that keeps the Locust from tunneling up and into the castle proper. It's the main reason we came here." she said, before giving him a warm smile, "well, _one_ of the main reasons." Jon returned her smile with one of his own.

She glanced at Arya, "Have your squad secure the rest of the castle. I want rotating shifts of ten men every hour. Once that's done, get Jon and come see me." she motioned for the child next to Arya, "_Saera, māzigon lēda nyke._"

"_Kessa muña_." the small child turned to Arya, "_Geros ilas, Āria._" with that the child walked over to Daenerys. Ghost following close behind.

Daenerys smiled down at the direwolf, before looking back at Arya. "We'll be in my chambers." Arya nodded in acknowledgement, before walking off to carry out her orders. Daenerys made her way towards the stairs, as Sansa got up and called after her in confusion,

"_Your_ chambers?"

Daenerys didn't even bother turning around as she shouted out a reply, "Cast your mind back. They used to be yours."

And with that, Daenerys Targaryen walked up the stairs and disappeared from view, child's hand in hers and flanked by Jon's faithful direwolf.

* * *

_**Please leave a review. I really love getting feedback from you guys!**_

_**Things to look up: Emergence Hole; Vulcan Gatling Gun; Drone; Grenadier; Grenadier Elite; Gnasher Shotgun; Bolo Grenade. **_

_**Translations:**_

_**maghagon iā dyni iemnȳ sīr kostis ūndegon ziry. = bring a monster inside so they can see it.**_

_**Manaeragon Vulcans = Raise Vulcans**_

_**Perzys = Fire**_

_**zokli! dīnagon bē = Wolves! Move up!**_

_**Saera, māzigon lēda nyke. = Saera, come with me.**_

_**Kessa muña. = Yes mother**_

_**Geros ilas, Āria. = Bye, Arya.**_

_**Next time, Jon and Dany reunite.**_


	4. Reconciliation

_**Hello everyone! This is it, the chapter you've all been waiting for! **_

_**By the way, I looked up the Gnasher Shotgun on the Gears of War wiki, and for some stupid reason it's page is completely blank, so here's its description from the official Gears of War website:**_

"_**The Gnasher shotgun is a deadly weapon at close range. It's capable of inflicting one-shot kills to all but the largest of Locust units. And even though it is generally meant for short range combat, it can also do moderate damage at medium range."**_

_**Stats from the Strategy Guide: A lever-action shotgun; holds 8 shells.**_

_**Also, for a visual of Daenerys in her full armour, look up 'Anya Stroud' on the Gears of War Wiki.**_

_**This is my longest chapter yet, and was edited/written with the help and support of Longclaw 1-6. Hope you all enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 4: Reconciliation

* * *

Jon walked alongside Arya to the Lord's chambers. Formerly occupied by the Queen in the North, they had been appropriated by Daenerys. After leading the Northern forces in battle, many of the Stark bannermen saw her with new eyes. They still called her the Dragon Queen, but did so with a tone of respect, not derision.

As Jon had stood in the courtyard following Dany's dramatic exit, her soldiers had quickly and efficiently began to fortify the Godswood and the Castle walls. Not wanting to stand around and feel useless, he found his sister and offered to help.

They unloaded the crates in the Godswood, taking an hour just to set up their main basecamp around the Weirwood Tree, as well as four massive devices that Arya referred to as 'Troikas' on the battlements surrounding the Godswood. The bodies of the locust, after being stripped of everything important, were gathered into piles that were then burned by Drogon and his siblings. Once the team from the crypts reported back, saying that the granite base was intact, Arya told him it was finally time to go see Daenerys.

Jon grew more and more anxious with each step as they got closer to Dany's chambers. It had been over five years since they had spoken privately, and that had ended with him killing her. He still hadn't forgiven himself for that, and honestly, he couldn't figure how she could either.

Finally, they arrived at the door. Arya cleared her throat before knocking and calling out, "_**Mēre zokla mērī morghūlilza.**_"

There was a pause, before Jon and Arya heard a response. "_**Yn naenie hēnkirī kessa botagon.**_"

Arya nodded to Jon and opened the door, letting him walk in before following him through. Both paused in the threshold at the scene that greeted them.

The room had changed in the hours since its new occupant had moved in. The bed, formerly to the right of the door, had been pushed into the corner farthest from it. A small crate, similar in design to the ones Daenerys had brought via dragonback, sat next to the bed like a nightstand. There was a Boltok sitting on top of it, and a Gnasher resting up against the wall next to it.

Their owner was seated at the desk, now situated half-way between the bed and the hearth, with a freshly polished helmet and Lancer resting across the top.

A soft smile adorned Daenerys' tranquil face as her eyes rested on the two other occupants of the room. Ghost was laid out in front of the small fire crackling in the hearth, body rising and falling steadily with his sleepy breaths. Joining him in his slumber was the little girl, snuggled into his side and facing the fire, completely at peace in the presence of the powerful beast.

A wave of calm settled over Jon at the sight. Spreading throughout his entire being and driving out the anxiety that had been his constant companion in the hours since the battle concluded.

Jon was startled out of his reverie by Dany's voice. "They've been like that since we walked in here." she said to neither one of them in particular, her gaze never leaving the two figures lying before the hearth. "They haven't moved a muscle, even when I was moving the furniture around and polishing my armour."

Arya shut and locked the door behind them, walking over to sit at the foot of the bed before replying. "No big surprise. Between the evacuation, the long flight to Dragonstone, the flight here, and the battle that greeted us within minutes of our arrival, she hasn't had a chance to properly rest in days." She let out an exhausted sigh, "None of us have."

A thousand questions filled Jon's head as he listened to Arya and Dany's exchange. But as the subject of their conversation stirred in her sleep, letting out a small yawn before burying her face further into Ghost's fur, only one came to the forefront of his mind.

"Who is she?"

For the first time in over an hour, Daenerys' gaze left the two sleeping beauties by the fireplace. Snapping to the man still standing in front of the door, as if just now noticing his presence. In fact, she had been aware of his presence from the moment he entered the room. What had surprised her was his voice, realizing it was the first time she had heard it in over five years, as well as the bluntness of his question.

For a few seconds, she just took him in.

He wore a black wool gambeson, the top few buttons undone in the relative warmth of the castle, with black trousers and boots befitting his status as a member of the now defunct Night's Watch. His hair and beard were the same length as the last time she had seen him, still the same raven black that she loved. The same as…

Suddenly remembering his question, she turned an apprehensive gaze towards Arya, one that did nothing to calm his unease.

"You didn't tell him?"

Despite her exhaustion, Arya managed to raise a brow in slight exasperation. "Of course not."

Daenerys closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, holding it for a moment, then letting it out through her mouth, before opening her eyes again. She turned to face Jon fully, locking eyes with the man she loved. After a breathless pause, she gave him the answer he'd been dreading.

"She's my daughter."

Jon's heart sank, as he let out the breath he'd been holding since he asked the question. He shouldn't be surprised. It had been five years after all. It made sense that, in the wake of what he'd done to her, she would try to forget her heartbreak by seeking out someone else. And he'd always believed that the witch's curse was a farce. Truthfully, he was happy for her. He was glad someone could give her the family she had always wanted, even if that someone wasn't him.

Adopting a stoic expression, he let a few moments pass before giving a reply.

"Congratulations."

Daenerys allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of her lips, "Thank you."

Jon turned his gaze back to the sleeping child, who had somehow sunk even deeper into ghost's fur. "She's beautiful." Daenerys couldn't stop the smile from breaking out on her face at that, "What's her name?"

"Saera…" Jon nodded, not noticing the apprehensive look that Daenerys shot Arya, the latter giving a nod of support and encouragement. Daenerys took a deep breath, before finishing,

"...Saera Snow."

Jon's breath hitched and his back went ramrod straight. His ears started to ring as he stared down in overwhelming disbelief at the little girl curled up next to his direwolf. A picture that suddenly made complete sense.

_Her daughter… My daughter… OUR daughter. No wonder Ghost is drawn to her. She's got wolf's blood in her veins. _

"Jon?" Daenerys was beginning to get slightly worried. He hadn't moved a muscle or said a word in over a minute.

He slowly turned, a look of profound awe covering his face.

"H-how?" his voice trembled, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Daenerys took in a shaky breath, "When the Lord of Light brought me back, he explained a few things. It turns out that, as appalled as I and many others are with what I did to King's Landing, the Lord of Light agreed wholeheartedly with the massacre of nearly a million heretics." she shook her head at that, closing her eyes in regret, before pressing on. "So, he took their deaths as payment for my resurrection, as well as the dragons that fly over this castle and over Dragonstone right now. To aid me in the fight against the Locust Horde…" She paused before going on, "He also used the deaths of King's Landing's inhabitants to revive the child that I unknowingly carried in my womb, when…" she stopped herself short, realizing a split second too late what she was about to say. But Jon followed her train of thought, and the guilt crushed his spirit, making him fall to his knees in agony.

"When I killed you." the tears spilled over his lids and poured down his face. "And your child. **Our** child." he choked on the sob that threatened to slip from his throat.

Daenerys was on her feet in an instant, coming to kneel next to the man who, in leaving her with nothing, had given her everything.

"DON'T." she ground out, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Saera. "Do not blame yourself. I don't, not anymore. You didn't know, and neither did I. If I had, none of what happened would have come to pass."

He looked up and met her beautiful amethyst eyes with his own, tears still flowing. "How can you say that?" he gasped out, "How can you even look at me, after what I did?" he took in a shuddering breath.

"I allowed myself to be manipulated into killing you, the woman I love, _and _our unborn child. I robbed us of the chance to have what we both wanted since we were old enough to want anything." His face filled with regret, mourning the loss of the last five years he could have had with the family he never knew he had.

"Exactly." Jon and Dany's heads both snapped to the other side of the room, where Arya had stood from the bed, a look of powerful resolve on her face.

"You were manipulated. You both were. By a vindictive, spiteful bitch and a soulless cripple who decided to play god." she walked over to them then, coming to kneel next to her brother and adoptive sister. "But you're both still here. Your daughter is still here. And nothing, and no one is going to take that away from you. From _us_." She locked gazes with Jon. "You're not alone anymore."

Daenerys looked to her sister with affection, and spoke with determination, "_Mēre zokla mērī morghūlilza, yn naenie hēnkirī kessa botagon._"

Jon furrowed his brow in confusion, "What does that mean?"

Arya smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye, "The lone wolf may die, but the pack survives."

Jon returned her smile with one of his own, before embracing his new family. His real family.

_Blood of my blood_.

They sat like that for a few moments, just enjoying the new sense of family and wholeness they found in one another.

Until Ghost's head perked up and turned to the door, letting out a low whine as he detected a presence beyond it. Everyone was immediately alert and on their feet, Saera waking up at the commotion, to Dany's chagrin.

"_Muña_?" Saera yawned, before glancing tiredly up at Jon, "_Kepa_?"

For a split second, Dany's heart melted at their daughter finally being united with her father. Until there was a light knock, followed by a muffled voice calling through the door.

"_Brother, sister, may I come in?"_

Jon and Daenerys both scowled, and Arya drew her dagger, as they recognized the voice.

_Sansa._

* * *

After having her nose looked at by Maester Wolkan, who reluctantly took a break from treating the wounded to confirm that it was thankfully NOT broken, Sansa spent the day by herself. Watching Daenerys' men set up camp in the Godswood, with Jon AND Arya assisting.

Her humiliation didn't end when Daenerys kneed her in the face, for she had to wear the balck and blue bruise that formed a dark circle around her nose and under her eyes all day, surrounded by her people. Her stomach turning at the sight of her men eagerly helping Daenerys's with the fortifications.

So when Arya took Jon and headed for Daenerys' chambers, or rather **her** chambers, Sansa followed. Intent on listening in on what they were saying, gathering any information of value she could, then going off to find her own accommodations for the night.

But now, she stood frozen, paralyzed with indecision on the other side of the door. Reeling with the gravity of the revelation she had just heard through the door.

_Jon and Daenerys have a child. A daughter. One that they had unknowingly conceived, and then unwittingly killed, five years ago. _

_That __**I**_ _had unwittingly killed, when __**I**_ _set those events into motion._

A soul-crushing wave of self loathing and guilt slammed into Sansa as she realized the ramifications of this development.

She had known since the days of her marriage to Ramsay that she would never marry again, or have children of her own. So, she and her siblings agreed that if or when either of them had children, Those children would become the heirs to the Northern crown. And Sansa would shower them with as much love and affection as she would if they were her own.

Now, it turns out that she had robbed herself of that joy as well, without even knowing it.

_I arranged the death of Daenerys, my goodsister now in all but name, and killed my own niece before she was even born. All for the sake of my own pride and selfish insecurity._

Sansa had thought that she could never feel more guilty and worthless than she had after she foolishly caused the execution of her father. Definitely not after her mother, brother, and **first **goodsister and niece or nephew, had been butchered trying to save her from the Lannisters clutches. But she was wrong.

Heartbreakingly, soul-crushingly wrong.

Now, as she listened through the door, hearing Jon hate himself for what he had done, her self loathing only grew with each passing second. And then, Arya spoke.

"You were manipulated. You both were. By a vindictive, spiteful bitch and a soulless cripple who decided to play god."

The **hatred **that filled Arya's tone when she made that statement was palpable. Sansa had felt awful when Jon had denounced her earlier that day. But now, hearing the disdain in her sister's voice at the mere mention of her and Bran, she realized with jarring clarity just how alone she was. She kept listening.

"…you're both still here. Your daughter, my niece, is still here. And nothing, and no one is going to take that away from us…You're not alone anymore." She heard Daenerys say something in that language she used, Valyrian? She never had any desire to know a single word of that language, but she cursed herself for not knowing at least some of it now. Fortunately, Jon spared her any suspense by asking for a translation. When Arya answered, Sansa's blood ran cold.

"_The lone wolf may die, but the pack survives."_

With alarming clarity, Sansa knew what she had to do. If she was to have any chance of having any sort of relationship with her niece, any hope of having a family again, she had to reconcile with Daenerys. She couldn't face the coming storm by herself. She couldn't be the lone wolf anymore. She remembered the words of her father. The ones that Daenerys now knew, because Arya now loved her enough like a sister to share them with her.

_When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

It was time for her to rejoin the pack.

Swallowing her pride, and drawing on every ounce of her resolve, she took a deep breath and raised a shaking hand to the door. Hearing Ghost whine on the other side, she knocked lightly on the door.

"Brother, sister, may I come in?"

* * *

Daenerys looked to Arya and nodded towards the door. Arya silently took up a position on the other side of the door, so that when it was opened, her presence would be hidden. Daenerys then grabbed her Lancer off the desk, and motioned Saera behind her, taking aim at the door.

Ghost took up position next to Jon, who stood in front and to the right of the door, hand on the hilt of Longclaw as he waited for Daenerys to call in their uninvited guest.

With everyone in position and ready for the worst, Daenerys nodded again to Arya, who unlocked the door. Aiming down her lancer, she called out to their visitor.

"Enter."

Opening the door, Sansa walked in, the bruise on her face causing Dany's mouth to twitch upwards in momentary satisfaction. Sansa took a few steps into the room before freezing in place as she noticed the weapon being pointed at her heart.

"Where's Arya?" the door slammed shut behind her, causing her to jump as she spun around, the aforementioned sister bolting the door shut with one hand, valyrian steel dagger grasped in the other.

"I don't recall sending for you." Daenerys bit out, skipping the pleasantries, "But I do seem to remember informing you that these weren't your chambers anymore. Or was I not clear?"

Sansa slowly turned around, trembling in place as the reality of being surrounded by people who hated her seeped into her bones. Despite her fear, she kept an even tone as she answered.

"No, you were very clear. Painfully so." she gestured vaguely to her injured nose and still-sore stomach. Daenerys smiled briefly before lowering her weapon, though she did not put it down or point it away from Sansa.

"Then how is it that you came to stand outside **my** chambers, without being invited to do so?"

Knowing that lying was pointless, and counter to her new objective of ingratiating herself to all those present, she decided it was best to tell them everything.

"I'll admit, initially I came here with the intention of spying on you, in the hopes of obtaining information that I might use against you." Daenerys scowled at that, as did Jon. Ghost, who had always been amicable towards her, was growling menacingly at her. She was sure Arya was staring daggers at her back as well, but what disturbed Sansa the most was the look on Saera's face.

She was terrified of her. Her own niece, scared of her own blood. It broke Sansa's heart all over again, and strengthened her resolve.

"But that was before I learned of… her." she waved her hand in Saera's direction.

Before Sansa could say another word, Daenerys cut her off.

"Arya," she said in a stern voice, "Do you remember the way to your quarters?" Sansa looked both surprised and confused at the inquiry, but Daenerys didn't bother to acknowledge her. At Arya's nod, Daenerys addressed her daughter, in less clipped tone, "Saera, you'll be spending the night with your aunt Arya. Ghost," Ghost stopped growling and snapped his head around to look at Daenerys. "Go with them."

Without another word, Arya opened the door and held her hand out to her niece, who took it before turning around, regarding first Dany then Jon, "_Sȳz bantis, muña. Sȳz bantis, kepa."_ With that, they left the room, Ghost following close behind. Leaving Sansa alone with Daenerys and Jon.

Sansa looked as though she was about to speak, but Daenerys cut her off, "Don't." Sansa pressed her lips together in acquiescence.

Daenerys waited a good minute before turning around, slamming her Lancer on the desk, and turning back with a finger pointed at Sansa's face. The heat in her gaze could have melted the ice of the entire Wall.

"Let me make something **perfectly** clear to you, **Your Grace**," the sarcasm dripping from Daenerys' voice was thick, her tone biting as she addressed Sansa by her title. "As far as our daughter knows, Arya is her _only _other family. She treats Grey worm like an uncle, and I made damn sure that she knew who her father was. That she was born out of love, not hate. But you? I would sooner gut you in front of her, and burn the entire North to ash, before I let her know that you were her blood. The Starks are the ones that killed me, and her, as far as she knows. And what are you?" she raised a knowing eyebrow at the disheartened look on Sansa's face.

"A Stark." Sansa said dejectedly.

"Yes…a Stark." Daenerys spat her family name with disgust and derision.

"Tell me something…" Sansa said after a few moment's pause, "...if you hate our family, and the North so much, then why not name her Targaryen? That's Jon's, or Aegon's, real name…Why name her Snow?" to Dany's surprise, there was no malice or spite in Sansa's tone, only curiosity. But the answer came easily to her, nonetheless.

"Because I don't love Aegon Targaryen…" she turned to look longingly into Jon's eyes, "I love Jon Snow." she turned back to address Sansa, "Saera should bare the name of the man that fathered her, not the name of the man who killed her." After giving a pause of mock reflection, she added, "plus, since Jon and I never married, and I lost my title as queen when your brother took my throne, I hardly possess the power to legitimize her. That left me with the choice of either Blackfyre or Snow, and no Snows ever rebelled against my family, to the best of my knowledge." her joke fell somewhat flat, but it eased the tension in the room enough for Sansa to press on.

"I understand." Daenerys actually raised an inquisitive brow at that, "Really, I do. I heard every word you said before I came in." She looked down at the floor in repentance, "I understand that I crossed a line. Several, in fact. I understand, that I've lost your trust." She took a deep breath, letting out a slow exhale as the two people she betrayed so brazenly stared back at her with blank expressions, "All I ask, is the chance to earn it back. That's all I'm asking for. A chance. I've no intention of having children of my own. I would give any and everything I have for the chance to know yours."

Daenerys gave away nothing as Sansa looked pleadingly at her and Jon. A tense silence followed. Minutes went by, the crackling of the dying fire the only sound in the room. Daenerys walked over to the hearth, adding a single log to the embers, before returning to her position in front of the desk. She made her decision.

"From this moment on, you will be under my command. Not as part of a temporary alliance between two Queens, or a Lady and her Queen, but as a **soldier**. Make no mistake, from this moment on, **I am in charge**. The enemy that we face now will not allow us time to bicker over who leads. We must be united, or we will die. Do you understand?" She waited for Sansa to nod before continuing, "My first order, is this. Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, you will call for a meeting in the great hall. When we are ready, Jon, Arya, my lieutenants, and myself will join you." with that, she nodded curtly to the door.

Sansa nodded, "Thank you…"

"Don't thank me yet." Daenerys bit out, "Arya told me you've never fought, **really fought**, for anyone but yourself. From now on, you'll be fighting for humanity. You'll be fighting for me."

Sansa drew in a shaky breath, before nodding her ascent. "I understand."

"Good." Daenerys nodded curtly, before gesturing to the door, "Dismissed."

* * *

As the door closed behind Sansa, Jon let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. There was a lengthy pause, as Jon and Daenerys stood alone, just looking into the fire. It wasn't lost on either of them that this was the first time in five years that they were alone together. Nor did it escape them that the last time they had been alone, it had ended in tragedy.

Just as Jon was about to speak, unable to bear the silence any longer, Daenerys put them both out of their misery.

"I meant what I said to Sansa." Jon looked to her with a raised brow, a smirk on his face.

"Which part?" he asked with a small chuckle.

Daenerys let out a hum of amusement as well, as she turned around and set her lancer back on the desk.

"Well, all of it. But specifically the part about the Locust not giving us the luxury of time." she turned back around, looking him square in the eyes, as she removed the holster and gunbelt from her waist.

"When I came here, I thought we would have weeks, maybe months, before the Locust Horde made its way across the Narrow Sea. Weeks or months that I would need to convince Westeros of the threat facing them, and that I could lead them to defeat it. But most of all…"

She pulled the straps of her torso armour loose, pulling it over her head to reveal the thick, tight, ocean-blue bodysuit underneath. Jon suddenly noticed that her chest piece was the only part of her 'armour' that she had been wearing. The leg and forearm pieces had been removed sometime before he and Arya had arrived, leaving her arms bare and her slim form on display. His breeches suddenly became painfully tight.

"...I thought that I would have time to get to know you again. Properly…" she circled Jon, his body turning to follow her every movement so his back was to the bed, creeping closer as her eyes smoldered with a longing and desire that Jon hadn't seen in over five years.

"...But as I said, we don't have the luxury of time."

Suddenly, with a strength that Jon didn't even know she had, she shoved him backwards so that he was splayed out on the bed. The next instant she was on top of him, her lips engulfing his in a searing, passionate kiss. One that he eagerly returned.

They sucked at each other's lips, savoring the taste of each other as their tongues fought for dominance. Finally, they separated for air, looking into each other's eyes with the same burning passion that they had on the voyage to White Harbour so many years ago. Only this time, they knew exactly what they were to each other. They knew what this was, and they were never going to let anyone or anything come between them again.

Daenerys stood up, dragging Jon with her as she loosened the straps on her bodysuit. Jon followed suit, removing his sword belt and yanking off his gambeson like his life depended on it.

As Jon reached down to loosen the ties on his breeches, he saw Daenerys' body suit suddenly fall to the floor around her ankles, leaving her completely bare to Jons gaze. His breath hitched at what he saw.

Daenerys was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her body was lean and toned from years of combat and wearing armour and equipment that weighed nearly as much as she did. But the major difference, was her collection of scars…

Jon's eyes drew first to the two that were on her left bicep, where it looked like an arrow had pierced through her arm. She held it up to his gaze, "Lancer round, from when we were escaping Meereen."

His eyes then fell to three large slashes that started at her right side and stretched across her abdomen. They looked newer, no more than a few months old. She took his left hand and pressed it against the raw, red, and slightly raised scar tissue. "Ambush, by wretches, during the final months of the siege of Braavos." _I almost died, so close to finding you again._

Finally, his eyes came to rest on the most glaring, and damning scar of all. One that Jon had given to her. Three small puncture marks, right beneath her breastbone. His hand drifted up as if to touch it, but he hesitated. Dany's eyes filled with tears as she took his trembling hand in hers and guided it to the space between her breasts.

As Jon felt her heart pounding beneath his hand, he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, head falling in remorse and sorrow. "Me," he murmured, hating himself so greatly in that moment.

Daenerys reached up with her left hand, her right still holding his against her beating heart, and lifted his chin so their gazes met. Her eyes filled with tears, radiating love and understanding.

Her voice trembled with emotion, "I'm here Jon. I'm alive." She then lowered her hand from his jaw, placing it reverently on the scars over his own heart. "We both are… let's enjoy it while we can."

His eyes met hers, and this time it was her breath that hitched at what she saw. Staring back at her were the same grey irises she knew and loved, but surrounding them were solid, blazing rings of amethyst.

"Blood of my Blood." Speaking as one, they fell back onto the bed, lips crashing together. Losing themselves to the passion of two dragons, reunited at last.

This dream... it had haunted so many of his lonely nights north of the Wall. Jon had learned to draw as much warmth out of them as he could until the ash and pain of the knife that would undoubtedly materialize in Dany's chest... But this was no dream. This was real. Hands running down the slim, warm flesh of his long-lost love, Jon felt as if light had returned to his world.

He suddenly flipped them, the yelp from Daenerys' lips making his heart flutter. "I love you, Dany." Voice hoarse with emotion, he nuzzled the still soft skin of her neck. "I never stopped. Please…"

"I love you too, Jon," she murmured, lust and love in her tear-filled eyes. "Come back to me. I need you." She spread her legs, raking her nails down his back. "Don't make me wait."

Who was he to deny the love of his life? Already finding her begging for him, ready for him, he guided his length to her entrance and pushed the tip in, hissing as he did. "It's been a while." There was no one - no woman that could ever replace her.

If Daenerys couldn't love him more, she was blown away. He was faithful to her, even after everything.

"Same here." She remembered Daario, the sellsword constantly offering even up to the morning of his death - when the monsters stormed Meereen. But she didn't want to think of him, or the locusts. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him in. "Gods…"

She was so tight, so perfectly tight. Just as she was on the boat. Jon found her lips again, tongue stabbing into her mouth in imitation of his length. Hammering into her, finding his way home for the first time in five years. Never again, never again was he to let her go.

Screaming into his mouth, Daenerys held onto him as if even the smallest distance would cause the world to end. Gods, only he could give her this much pleasure. Love, comfort, rapture. Jon Snow... he was her everything. Dany would lay waste to anyone or anything that would come between them again. Bring fire and blood across the stars to the gods above if she had to, a deep dragonfire simmering inside her. "Fuck... Jon," she gasped against his lips. "Make me shatter…"

"Dany… Dany…" He bit his lip, feeling two soft hands guide his face to look directly at hers. Violet eyes meeting grey.

"_Love comes in at the eyes._" The words were barely audible, but the love she found in his roared like the entire locust horde. "Jon!" Her climax shattered her into bliss.

"Dany!" He was not far behind.

Little more than a minute later, shaking in the afterglow of their frantic coupling, Jon had flipped them over. Gently stroking down her back as she fell into slumber. "I love you, my Queen." he placed a kiss on her silver hair before he pulled up the furs to cover them. "They'll never take you away from me again." The last words were soft, Jon following her into sleep only a moment after.

* * *

_**And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Jon and Dany reunited at last! They still have some issues to work out. But right now, after five years of being alone in their struggles, they needed this. **_

_**The love scene was written with the help of Longclaw 1-6. The man is a savant, and if you haven't already read his work, I HIGHLY recommend it. Thanks buddy, this story wouldn't exist without you!**_

_**Weapons to look up: Troika Heavy Machine Gun**_

_**Translations:**_

_**Sȳz bantis, muña, sȳz bantis, kepa. = Good night, mother, good night, father.**_

_**Mēre zokla mērī morghūlilza, yn naenie hēnkirī kessa botagon. = The lone wolf may die, but the pack survives.**_


	5. A New Enemy

_**Happy New Year everybody! **_

_**I've revised the first four chapters of my story, to reflect the increased populations of Essos and Westeros that I discovered during my research for this chapter. I originally thought that there were only a few million people on each continent. That was a HUGE error in judgement. Everything is fixed now, most notably the battle sequence in chapter 3. I STRONGLY recommend that you go back and reread the previous chapters, or that one at the very least, otherwise you'll find certain elements of this chapter rather confusing.**_

_**Now, without further ado, chapter 5.**_

* * *

Chapter 5: A New Enemy

* * *

_-Winterfell Castle; one hour before sunrise-_

Daenerys lay with her eyes closed, left arm and leg wrapped around Jon in a loving embrace. She was totally awake, but also completely relaxed, her head resting comfortably on his scarred chest, rising and falling with his breathing. She wanted to savor this moment for as long as possible, finally being reunited with her mate.

Her sun and stars, mighty wolf, the love of her life…the father of her child. She never thought she would get him back. Now that she had, she would let nothing take him from her again.

There was a pause in his breathing, her eyes opening slowly as a knowing smile spread across her face.

"Good morning, my love."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound filling Daenerys with a warmth she hadn't felt since her previous lifetime.

"So, last night **wasn't** just another dream." he croaked out, still groggy from sleep.

She let out a giggle, "Afraid not, my…" she suddenly lifted her head to meet his tired gaze, the meaning of his words registering in her mind, "...You've dreamt of this before?"

He met her stunned gaze with an amused, slightly apologetic one of his own, "More or less. Though it usually doesn't start with you dressed in armour, and never ends… this well." he frowned as he spoke the last words, and all at once Dany knew what he referred to. A scene that haunted her, plagued her every waking moment of the last five years.

_Until today._

The thought strengthened her already hardened resolve.

She cupped his face, stopping it from turning away so she could look him in the eye. "What's done is done, Jon. We can't change the past, no matter how much we want to. But we can still do something about the future." she smiled longingly as she stroked his face with her hand, "Our future_._"

He ran his hand along her smooth, slender back, recalling the words Arya had spoken last night, translated from what Dany had said in a language he was yet to understand. "The lone wolf dies…"

"...But the pack survives." they spoke as one, leaning forward to meet in a searing kiss.

A roar from one of Dany's children shook the whole castle, ending their bliss. Jon let out a groan, head falling back as his hands came up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Dany laughed heartily at the sight, "Sorry, my king. We'll have to pick this up another night."

With that, she planted a quick kiss over his heart and climbed out of bed, walking over to where her body suit lay discarded on the floor. Jon stayed in bed, raking his gaze over her nude form, marveling at the gorgeous sight of his lover returned to him.

"Enjoying the view?" she said with amusement, adding a little extra sway to her hips as she worked the suit up her legs, before turning around as she pulled it the rest of the way up her torso.

"Very much, my queen." he replied breathily, finally getting up and searching out his own clothes. He'd just pulled his pants up past his hips, Daenerys fastening the straps of her suit, when a knock sounded at the door.

"If you two are done making me another niece or nephew, we have work to do."

Both their faces turned beet red at Arya's voice, Jon rushing to don the rest of his clothes as Dany called out, "Give us a minute!"

As Jon tightened his sword belt around his waist, a fully armoured Dany walked over and unbolted the door. Arya letting herself in, a knowing smirk on her face.

"Not another word." Daenerys said exasperatedly, before noticing Arya was alone. "Where is Saera?"

"Still asleep in my chambers. Don't worry, I left Grey Worm and Kinvara to watch over her, plus she has Ghost."

"Good." Daenerys let out a breath of relief, before turning back to the desk to start checking her weapons, "What's our situation?" She was back in command mode.

Arya didn't miss a beat, "Grey worm and his men spent the entire night going through the supplies we pulled from yesterday's battle, with help from Yara's Ironborn and my sister's bannermen."

"And?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

A smug smile spread across Arya's face, "16,017 Lancers; 13,860 Gnashers; and 9,031 Boltoks." At Daenerys' look of stunned disbelief, Arya's smile only grew wider, satisfaction filling her tone, "It gets better; that was just what we were able to recover from the field. We searched the inside of the emergence holes, they lead to a massive cavern, what was clearly a staging area. We found ONE HUNDRED Troika heavy machine gun turrets, along with MILLIONS of ammo and grenade boxes. There are also THOUSANDS of weapons crates! We haven't looked through all of them yet, obviously, but the few we've opened have had Lancers; Gnashers; a few had Boomshots; and one even had Longshots! They must have been planning to take the castle, then fortify and hold it and the surrounding area until their main army could…Daenerys?"

Jon wore a look of total confusion on his face, not understanding a word of what Arya had just said. But as he turned to his right, the stupid, delirious, open-mouthed grin that started to form on Dany's face said it all.

Daenerys couldn't remember the last time she had been rendered truly speechless. Times when nothing needed to be said? Sure. Times when she let her face or body language do the talking? Of course.

But this? This was almost too good to be true. Mere words could not describe the sheer magnitude of their good fortune. The wealth of supplies that had just landed in their lap. And so soon after their arrival in Westeros? Her mind started racing with ideas of how to best utilize this new, unforseen advantage.

Arya was starting to get impatient, "Sister!" this shook Dany out of her stupor, letting out a laugh before answering, "Well, it looks like we're not as fucked as I thought we were."

* * *

_-The Great Hall of Winterfell; fifteen minutes past sunrise-_

Every lord, lady, and officer at Winterfell sat impatiently in the Great Hall, having answered the summons made by the Queen in the North less than an hour ago. Sansa, Tyrion, and Samwell Tarly sat at the high table, the latter two sparing the occasional glance at Bran, who sat at the end of the table with his eyes downcast in a rare display of emotion, his brows furrowed in consternation.

"Your grace, if I may ask, what are we doing here at such an ungodly hour?" Lord Cerwyn spoke, yawning as he regarded the others present.

"And where is your crown?" voiced Lord Manderly. He wasn't the first to notice the absence of the headpiece that had defined her for the last five years.

Sansa tucked a few stray strands of her flowing red hair behind her ear, subtly stroking the spot where her crown used to rest. "Patience, my lords. All will be explained soon."

"How soon?" everyone turned to the crippled king, startled by the hint of concern and… indignation? That tainted his voice. "I have many questions that require answers. Questions the Six Kingdoms need ans…" He was cut off by the bellowing roar of a dragon as it flew overhead, casting a large shadow over the courtyard and battlements visible from the windows, and waking any remaining denizens of the castle.

Suddenly, the sound of marching footsteps could be heard outside the open doors of the Great Hall. Filling the occupants with apprehension as it grew louder with each passing second. Until finally, the people on everyone's thoughts entered the room.

Leading the group was Jon and Arya, followed closely by Daenerys, who stood hand in hand with Saera on her left, while Ghost sat to her right. Grey Worm, Kinvara, and half a dozen Wolves brought up the rear. The last one in closed the door behind them, before joining the rest along the back wall, weapons drawn to discourage any of the unpleasantness they were met with yesterday.

The symbolism of Jon, Arya, and Daenerys standing side-by-side, the latter being flanked by Jon's own direwolf, wasn't lost on anyone.

"Good morning, my lords. I hope you slept well last night. Because it will be the last peaceful night you receive for many months." Daenerys spoke with a chipper attitude as she regarded all those present, adding to the unease of everyone in the room. "I'm sure you have many questions, and we have precious little time to spare, so…" she looked Tyrion square in the eyes, her next words making him swallow in trepidation, "...Shall we begin?"

Surprisingly, it was Sam who spoke first, "I can't help but notice that there is one noble lord, er, lady, absent from this gathering. Where is lady Greyjoy?" Many others had noticed this as well, turning to Daenerys with mixed looks of curiosity and indignation.

Daenerys didn't even blink, "_Captain _Greyjoy is enjoying a much needed rest, after she and her men spent the whole night helping mine sort through the spoils of yesterday's skirmish. I've already briefed her on what is to transpire during this meeting, and gave her, the ironborn, and the other northmen who helped the morning to rest and recuperate. Next?"

The ease with which she commended the Stark bannermen that helped her people, as well as her nonchalance in assuming command of them, took many aback. As did the business-like tone in which she seemed to be conducting this meeting. Tyrion was the first to recover, asking the questions that had plagued everyone's minds.

"What exactly happened yesterday? What were those… _Creatures_?" Many shared his look of fear and disgust at the mention of the creatures that had attacked yesterday.

_Good, they're finally asking the right questions._

"_That_, was the Locust Horde. A prehistoric race of humans, created by the gods as a first attempt at humanity. A warrior culture whose civilization, at its height, occupied everything east of what we now call the Red Waste, before the Lord of Light drove them below ground as a punishment for their defiance to his will."

Bran interjected at this, "Why don't I know of this? Essos and Westeros were once joined, I should still be able to see them, even if they predate the Andals or the First Men."

Daenerys smiled, speaking to him as though he were a small, naive child, "That's because their civilization collapsed _many _years before the Children of the Forest created you, Three Eyed Raven…**millions of years**_, _in fact."

Everyone in the room fell silent, stunned by the enormity and impossibility of what Daenerys was saying. But she pressed on.

"They spent the last ten thousand years or so of their existence adapting to life below ground. The Corpsers, those spider-like creatures that burst from ground prior to their attack? Denizens of the Hollow, the large, cavernous space that lies beneath the Red Waste. And just **one** of the monstrosities they enslaved to their will, in their attempt to rebuild their once glorious empire. Until finally, the Lord grew tired of their tenacity, putting them and all the creatures they had enslaved into a state of suspended hibernation." Daenerys trailed off, allowing Kinvara the opportunity to deliver the final blow.

"An entire race of warriors, a billion strong, sleeping just below the surface. Possessing the technology of a hundred thousand years of uninterrupted advancement. Held in reserve by the one true god, patiently awaiting the chance to prove their renewed faith, and punish any and all who would defy his will…"

Silence reigned over the Great Hall, until all at once, those at the high table grasped the meaning of her words.

"Like we did," Samwell croaked out, his voice barely above a whisper, "when we conspired to overthrow you." he looked at Daenerys with horrified disbelief, along with everyone else who played a role in her downfall.

Daenerys leveled a cold, withering gaze at each of them. "You mean when you plotted to **kill** me." Her look was shared by all those who stood with her, Ghost letting out a low, menacing growl, while Saera hugged her mother's leg in support.

She ground out the rest with barely contained rage, "You didn't even consider it, did you? The ramifications of your actions beyond the scope of Westeros. The women and children of the Dothraki, whose men had all died fighting for me, for **you**?" tears started spilling from her eyes, "Or the millions of slaves I unchained? Hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children, whose freedom was **entirely** dependent on my being there to support it?" at that, Grey Worm leveled a death glare at Tyrion and Sansa, picking up where Daenerys stopped, a lump having formed in her throat at the thought of what came next.

"In the months following the death of our queen, while you were all busy dividing up the spoils, and freeing those who had betrayed her, war broke out between the freedmen and the former masters. When my men and I landed on the Isle of Naath, it was nothing but a barren speck of dirt in the middle of the sea. The people living there, and everywhere else under our queen's protection, were slaughtered or enslaved once more, because of you." his voice dripped with hatred, as tears continued to fall from Dany's equally angry eyes.

"The Red Priests and Priestesses of Asshai searched far and wide for our queen's body, in the hopes of resurrecting her. But by the time Drogon had lead them to her, it was too late. The Lord of Light had already awoken the Locust Horde, who were preparing their forces for an attack on the surface."

Kinvara cut him off, delivering the climax of their heartbreaking tale. "It took the fiery sacrifice of each and every one of my priests and priestesses, to hatch the ONE THOUSAND dragon eggs we had collected and gathered over the centuries."

**"A thousand!?"** Sam exclaimed as his face, as well as those of everyone in the room including Bran, went ashen.

"Yes." Kinvara said smugly, "We also had to remind the Lord of the million nonbelievers Daenerys had already wiped from this damned country, in order to bring back her, AND her child."

**"****WHAT!?"** Bran, Sam and Tyrion exclaimed in unison, looking with horror and disbelief at the little girl hugging Daenerys's waist. They each looked at Daenerys and Jon in turn, guilt filling their faces at the realization of what they had done.

Quickly forgetting the thousand dragons, everyone else in the room looked at them with hatred and disgust. Most had heard Jon reveal his true parentage the day before, which made any child of his half-Stark in their eyes, uniting them behind both him and Daenerys.

But one of them noticed that Sansa wore the same look of guilt on her face as Lord Tyrion and Lord Tarly, though it lacked the surprise present in theirs.

Lord Manderly spoke up, "Your grace, tell me you had no part in this?" But the shame that filled Sansa's face said otherwise. What she said next, shook them to their very core.

"We **ALL** set it in motion." she raised her hands to indicate everyone at the high table.

The only sounds were the wind coming through the windows, and the clamor as the rest of the castle started to wake up, with the sun having fully rose above the horizon. Everyone sitting mortified by what their queen and king had done. Until Arya broke the silence.

"And now here we all are… Doomed to fight against **another** army of monsters. Facing total annihilation. All thanks to the spiteful misgivings of a weak-willed coward; the blunders of a drunken dwarf; the petty malice of my honorless sister; and the hubris of my crippled brother who decided to play god." The disgust in her eyes cut through Sansa and the others like a hot knife.

Minutes went by in total silence, everyone trying to digest the world altering news they had just received. Finally, the silence was broken by the one who had truly started it all.

"What can we do?" though Bran's voice was the same monotone it always was, his face was filled with regret. He had truly believed, with every fibre of his being, that he was saving the world when he set Daenerys Targaryen's demise in motion. Instead, he had only invited the extinction of the entire human race. At the hands of an enemy that, by all accounts, made the Night King look like a child with a wooden sword.

Daenerys wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffling as she regained her composure, "YOU_,_ can begin by using your warging to figure out **exactly** how far the granite base extends underneath and around Winterfell. The Locust emerged approximately one mile to the east, but that's just one direction. The more people we can have in and around this castle, the better. Then, send ravens to every town, city, village, hells every isolated little hovel in Westeros, warning them of the threat. Based on the amount of supplies and equipment we've gathered so far, and the size of the Locust attack force, they would have been able to fend off the entire continent for at least a few months. That's our timetable. I want every civilian, along with all the food stores at their disposal, brought north of the Neck before then."

She shifted her gaze to Tyrion, "Call every soldier south of the Neck to either Moat Cailin or the Eyrie. Aside from Winterfell, they're the only other strongholds on the continent that have natural geographic defenses against the Locust Horde. I'm sending thirty men to each location today, and I want you to send a THIRD of the builders at your disposal to Moat Cailin to fortify its defenses, especially the northern ones; we're fighting an enemy that can attack from the very ground itself, and Moat Cailin was only built to defend against an attack from the south. Lord Manderly." She turned abruptly to the rotund lord, who stood with a start at being called upon by the woman who was rapidly becoming the commander of Westeros' armed forces.

"I need you to return to White Harbour, and prepare it to receive refugees. I used my dragons to escort what's left of the Essosi people to The Three Sisters using the remains of the Essosi merchant fleet. Thousands of ships, carrying nearly a million men, women, and children. The men and women are all a part of my Coalition, or what's left of it, and will be invaluable in securing the city from the coming attack. Kinvara will take you on Silverwing, along with Aemonax and Mormaxes." Daenerys turned to the Priestess, who nodded her assent.

"Silverwing?" Lord Manderly wore a look of confusion on his face, which was met with amusement by Daenerys and her entourage. Daenerys smiled mischievously before closing her eyes and turning her face up towards the ceiling.

Everyone watched with curiosity as Daenerys Targaryen just stood there, seemingly doing nothing. But that was soon proven to not be the case, as the entire castle shook with the impact of a grey dragon landing on the battlements, followed swiftly by two others, one blue and the other orange. Daenerys opened her eyes and turned to the stunned lord.

"White Harbor is the only city in the North, and so it and Wintertown will be the main refugee centers. Make sure your people are ready to receive them." the lord nodded curtly, trembling with excitement and apprehension at the prospect of riding a dragon.

"The rest of you…" Daenerys looked around at the other lords of the North, all standing to attention as they felt the long dormant thrill and anticipation of preparing for battle course through their veins, "...call your families, call your bannermen, call all of your people to Winterfell, just as you did before the Battle for the Dawn. We have work to do."

* * *

_-50 miles east of The Fingers; 2 miles beneath the Narrow Sea-_

General Uzil Raam stood on a rise overlooking a massive cavernous space. Watching as millions of drones worked tirelessly to build the massive subterranean highway that would link Westeros and Essos. Having started work on the project almost two years ago, when they first laid siege to the canal city of Braavos, they were finally closing in on the Westerosi mainland. It would be an auspicious occasion.

Were it not for the most recent turn of events.

"Sending that detachment ahead of our main force was a mistake." Ketor Skorge, the high priest of the Kantus, did not mince words. Being Raam's second in command, and his closest friend, he didn't have to. "Six more months, and we would have been able to launch a full scale invasion of the entire continent, and the humans would have been helpless against us. Their previous wars and acts of heresy against the Lord have left them weak, with a population barely able to feed itself, let alone pose any threat to us."

Raam grunted in agreement, and agitation, "I thought if my men could take their only viable stronghold, it would destroy any chance they had of mounting an effective defense."

"Yes, a good gamble…" Skorge conceded, "...but a costly one. Now they know we are coming. They know that their native weapons and tactics are ineffective against us. They know that despite that, we **can** be defeated. And that **Daenerys Targaryen** is the one that can show them how."

Raam's blood boiled with rage, cursing his own short-sightedness. Skorge was right, it was a complete debacle. Adding to his anger was the fact it had happened before. Five years ago.

With their vastly superior numbers (nearly a billion Locust, to the hundred million humans of Essos), the strategy of the Locust Horde was a relatively simple one, relying on three key elements; surprise, technological superiority, and sheer brutality.

Daenerys had only been given a few months by the Lord of Light to convince the people of Essos of the threat of the Locust Horde. A few months to convince an entire continent of the existence of a race that hadn't walked the earth for three million years. But she had. And with that, the Locust had lost the element of surprise.

The technological superiority of the Locust Horde was meant to be their greatest advantage. But, in their haste to overwhelm the humans of Essos, they hadn't been armed entirely with ranged weaponry in the early months of the war. Having had to rebuild their weapons factories and armour foundries, they relied heavily on melee weapons in most early battles and skirmishes, often with fewer than 5% of Raam's men using firearms.

This allowed Daenerys and her people the opportunity to adapt to the use of Locust weapons and armour gradually, so that by the time Raams' army had been equipped entirely with firearms, the humans had learned to use and salvage enough to fight back.

But even with all of that, the Locust had still believed that their last advantage was the most unassailable; their brutality. Much like the Wight Walkers, the Locust used their appearance as a shock tactic. With their grotesque appearance and superior strength, even the strongest human opponent was no match for the weakest drone in the entire Horde.

But Raam had underestimated Daenerys Targaryen's resolve, as well as the fighting spirit of her people. While their greater numbers did allow them to come out on top in nearly every conflict, and did eventually win them Essos, their overreliance on it cost them dearly.

HALF of the Locust Horde had died by the time Braavos fell, and it was only thanks to Skorge and his kantus priests that their losses weren't greater. They should have been able to take Essos within a year, two at most. With what they knew of Westeros, it should have taken even less time to take the

Thanks to visions granted to Skorge by the Lord of Light, they knew that the people of Westeros numbered at around thirty million. They were proud, ignorant, and totally indifferent to most world events unless something directly affected them. Most importantly, they were all but completely steadfast in their refusal to accept any reality that ran counter to what they believed in.

For Gods' sake, it took the loss of a dragon AND seeing a wight walker in the flesh just for them to grasp the severity of the threat posed by the Night King and his army of the dead. A threat that they had been told was coming months, even years in advance.

And in the end, it was only luck that allowed them to prevail.

Their unification had come far too late, and only happened in the first place because they had **literally** been given no other option but to fight together, or die together. And even then, virtually the entire continent had rejected the notion that those were the only options, choosing instead to sit on their hands and pretend as though the fate of humanity itself wasn't at stake.

It was only thanks to Daenerys, her dragons, and her 'foreign' army, that humanity had been able to hold out long enough against the army of the dead for the Night King to be slain. And once she had saved them, they killed her, doing everything in their power to wipe her contributions from memory.

People like that, fickle, proud, and divided, they were doomed to fail. A civilization on the brink of collapse.

That was why Raam had launched a preemptive strike. Skorge had had a vision that told them King 'Bran the Broken' and his advisors were meeting with Queen in the North Sansa Stark, the 'Red Wolf'. The latter calling all of her lords to attend the gathering, which was to take place at Winterfell. While Skorge felt it was a sign that they needed to hasten their advance on the mainland, Raam saw it as a golden opportunity to wipe out the entire Westerosi leadership, and take one of the few fortified locations on the entire continent. So, he gave the order, and sent them in heavy.

20,000 drones, with 2,000 of some of his most bloodthirsty grenadiers. All equipped with full assault kits; Lancers, Gnashers, and Boltoks. Along with enough ammo and explosive ordinance to fend off the entire North, hell the whole **continent**, for weeks, if not months. It should have been more than enough.

But Raam had sent them in expecting to face **just** Westerosi forces. Weak, foolhardy men of honor armed with primitive steel weapons and armour. Not the tried, tested, and dragon-backed survivors from Essos. He had thought that his armies would crush Daenerys Targaryen's forces in Braavos, not let them escape. By the time word had traveled the 450 miles they had already dug beneath the Narrow Sea, it was far too late to call his men back or warn them of the threat.

Now, thanks to his folly, Raam had given Daenerys all the proof she required to convince the leaders of Westeros to rally their people behind her. Along with more than enough weapons and equipment to arm and train them.

Raam's patience snapped at the thought. Letting out a howl of rage, he pulled his Lancer from his back, activated it's chainsaw bayonet, and brought it down on the nearest Theron Guard. Cutting a diagonal line from its right shoulder to its left hip, splitting it in half in two seconds flat.

Letting out an angry huff, Raam turned to Skorge, who stood unfazed by the display of bloodlust. "It does not matter. In three months time our main force will be able to emerge on the Westerosi mainland. Take your Hydra, return to the surface, and lead the Reaver Squadrons in an assault on the Stepstones. The humans have their stronghold… it's time we had one of our own."

Skorge bowed his head, before turning to the large cavern and letting out a long, ear-splitting screech. All paused in their duties as they heard the call. Seconds passing in total silence.

Until a deep, bellowing roar answered back.

* * *

_**And so it begins! **_

_**Please leave a review. **_

_**Weapons to look up: Longshot Sniper Rifle**_

_**Creatures to look up: Hydra; Reaver**_

_**Enemies to look up: Theron Guard; Raam; Skorge; Kantus**_

_**Until next time, this is gulfyankee23, over and out.**_


	6. The Calm Before the Storm

_**Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay. Real life and family drama has a way of dampening one's creative groove. But I'm back, and just as committed as ever!**_

_**I hit a major milestone during my involuntary hiatus. OVER 100 FOLLOWERS! Thank you all for your faith and support! And a special shoutout to my amazingly talented beta reader, Longclaw 1-6, as well as Jonerys2019, Perseus Apollyon, and Nielsen1984. Feedback like yours is what fuels and improves my writing. Keep it coming! **_

_**Quick note: I discovered during my research for this chapter that the meeting at the end of the show, which I am personally dubbing "The Cowardly Congress of Cunts", took place in 305 A.C. (After Conquest). Since the show started at 300 A.C., this would make both Jon and Daenerys somewhere around 21-22 years old by the end of the show. Therefore, as of this chapter, they are both 27 years old. Not a huge deal, but I felt it was worth mentioning.**_

_**And now, here is chapter 6. Hope you all enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 6: The Calm Before the Storm

* * *

"_The rest of you…call your families, call your bannermen, call all of your people to Winterfell, just as you did before the Battle for the Dawn. We have work to do."_

-Four weeks later-

Bran had spent the first week surveying the extent of the granite foundation beneath Winterfell. Strained from the effort, not that Daenerys particularly cared, he was able to inform her that it was essentially a large rectangle shaped slab. From Winterfell, it extended one mile east, nine miles west, two miles north and four miles south. He couldn't tell exactly how thick it was, but it had prevented Locust incursion from below, and that was all that mattered.

As Bran surveyed the granite slab, Jon and Sansa organized a brief but much appreciated funeral for those that fell during the Locust assault, while Daenerys and her people helped tend to the Stark bannermen who were wounded. They also took a thorough inventory of the supplies gathered from the Locust emergence hole.

The ammo situation was less optimistic than Arya had led them to believe. There were only 50,000 ammo boxes, and half as many grenade boxes, not millions. Even so, it was more than they had when they arrived, and they would need every round for the fight to come. Along with what they recovered from the field, the emergence hole added 5,000 Lancers and Gnashers; 1,000 Boltoks; 200 Boomshots; and 50 Longshot Sniper Rifles, as well as the 100 Troika Heavy Machine Guns Arya had mentioned.

There were also 20,000 sets of chest, forearm, and leg armour pieces, presumably meant as replacements for the force that attacked them. Daenerys ordered they be repainted and fitted for human use as soon as possible. The first person to receive a set was Jon, who beamed with pride upon seeing the small, red three-headed dragon insignia in the center of the chest. Every member of Dany's officer corps had the insignia, but only Dany and Arya had it in red. The symbolism was immediately understood, and accepted, by all within the Targaryen ranks; whatever his past transgressions, Jon was family now.

The construction on the wall for the perimeter marked by the granite slab began at the start of the second week. Daenerys specified that it would have to be thirty feet thick, and at least sixty feet high. It wouldn't stand up against the Locusts' more heavy units, like the Corpsers, or the as yet to be seen Brumaks, but it would prevent grenades and light munitions from reaching the people within. Daenerys sent a message to her people to have her dragons help transport the stone and other raw materials they would require for the massive undertaking, while every able-bodied person that could be spared began cutting down trees for the fortifications. A process greatly helped by the arrival of twelve Giants, courtesy of Tormund, from beyond the Wall, along with the rest of the Freefolk at the end of the third week.

The arrival of half of Dany's forces from White Harbor yesterday evening was another huge boon. Ninety thousand men and women, all carrying as much food, weapons, and ammo as they could carry from the ships that had successfully brought them from the Three Sisters to White Harbor.

One of Dany's lieutenants informed her that the rest of the armed forces had deployed as she ordered in her last communication. Fifty thousand stayed behind at White Harbor under the command of Kinvara, to protect the refugees and help fortify the city, while twenty thousand had left for Moat Cailin. The remaining twenty thousand were moving to secure and set up checkpoints along the routes to seven other strongholds of The North; Oldcastle, Ramsgate, Deepwood Motte, Widow's Watch, Castle Cerwyn, Barrowton, and Torrhen's square. The latter three were to be fortified and turned into auxiliary sites for hosting any refugees that came from the south. Not that there were any.

While most of the half million people of The North had gathered at Winterfell by now, the situation was far less enthusiastic for the rest of Westeros.

It seemed that many of those south of the Neck were still completely and willfully indifferent to the goings on of the high lords and ladies of Westeros. Since none of them had witnessed the Night King and his army of dead men firsthand, as the people of The North had, all Bran's messages seemed to do was alienate and discredit him more than his poor leadership already had. And any who didn't immediately scoff at the notion of a horde of monsters living beneath their feet were quickly put off by the fact that Daenerys was still alive. She didn't begrudge the common people their animosity, though it was a major setback.

Bran did receive a message from Dorne, however, addressed to Daenerys with assurances from Prince Quentyn Martell that evacuations were well underway. The news was a great relief to Daenerys, knowing that an entire Kingdom was still loyal to her. But with millions of people to relocate, and about three thousand miles between Winterfell and the Red Mountains, they wouldn't be arriving for many months.

Such is what led Dany to call for what she had hoped to put off for as long as possible; conscription. Every man, and woman, ages ten to forty was required to undergo rigorous combat training. Shooting ranges had been set up to train the smallfolk in the use of firearms, while small arenas had sprung up all over the tent city surrounding Winterfell to teach hand-to-hand combat.

Daenerys approached one of these arenas now, where one of their newest recruits appeared to be getting put through the wringer.

"And, you're dead!" called the sparring instructor.

Sansa growled lowly in irritation, face pressed into the ground by the right hand of the instructor, while their left nearly wrenched hers out of its socket. Her body ached with the many bruises that had formed over the last few days, and her left eye was slightly blacken from when she was backhanded with her own fist, the instructor having caught it when she had thrown a wild punch at his helmeted face. Daenerys crossed her arms as she smirked at the sight, still unnoticed by the two combatants.

"I see you're spending your time wisely, lady Stark," Daenerys stated, her voice full of mirth, "Clayton, your assessment of her progress?"

A week ago, Sansa had decided it was time to start earning her place in this new world. TRULY earning it. So after completing her duties as Lady of Winterfell, she sought out Daenerys at one of the shooting ranges just outside the castle walls, where she was teaching Jon and fifty bannermen of house Stark how to strip, clean, reassemble, and load their new lancers.

The confusion caused by Sansa's presence at a shooting range was quickly replaced with surprise when she asked Daenerys for combat training. Stunned, and somewhat amused by her request, Daenerys had demanded to know why.

"_The last time we faced an army of monsters, I wasn't able to fight alongside my people. I abandoned them. I abandoned YOU. I will NOT make the same mistake again." _

Pleased with her response, Daenerys had passed her a lancer, inviting her to join the class. Since then, her training had begun in earnest, being issued her own lancer and a set of armour. Every day, after spending her mornings fulfilling her obligations as Lady of Winterfell, she would spend the first half of her afternoons on a shooting range, and the other half sparring with the best hand-to-hand combat trainer Dany had.

Sporting two muscular arms sprouting from heavy armour, with the moniker 'Grub Killer' embossed on the chest piece, said trainer released his grip and offered Sansa a hand up as he responded to his general's inquiry.

"She's getting better. Still can't fight worth a damn, but her marksmanship is improving."

"Good," Daenerys then looked to Sansa, who was loosening her arm as she winced, "Sansa, walk with me?"

Looking stunned at the offer, as well as the use of her first name rather than her title, Sansa quickly obliged. After jogging over to where her weapons had been set aside, re-equipping her lancer and boltok, she fell into step next to Daenerys, who began walking through the encampment at a leisurely pace.

They walked in silence for several minutes, greeting the smallfolk and soldiers they passed with nods and pleasant acknowledgements. It was an image that inspired many, the former Queen in the North walking side-by-side with the fallen Dragon Queen. Since Sansa had joined the cause as a soldier in training a week ago, the number of Northern recruits had tripled. Unplanned, but very welcome.

"Any word from the Vale?" Daenerys spoke abruptly, ending the pleasant silence that had fallen over the two. To the casual observer, her tone would seem casual, cordial. But hidden beneath that was an undertone of crisp professionalism. An undertone that Sansa knew all too well. She was still earning the trust and respect of Daenerys and her people, trust that was never really there to begin with. Grey Worm still looked at her with unfiltered contempt, and any of her soldiers that were veterans of the Long Night completely ignored whenever she was present. She knew it would be a long road to redemption. One that she was more motivated than ever to reach the end of.

She glanced nervously at the monarch-turned-soldier she was keeping pace with, "No, I'm afraid not." Daenerys frowned anxiously at the news.

Adding more weight to the already heavy load she carried, Daenerys hadn't heard back from the detachment of men she had sent to the Eyrie. The Vale was the only place left on the continent that still boasted the title of 'impregnable', and in theory it was large enough to accommodate most of the civilian population of The Six Kingdoms. Being able to divert there could shave hundreds of miles off the trip of anyone travelling north from south of the Neck. From what Sansa had told her, they should have reached the Bloody Gate by now.

Thirty of her soldiers, fully armed and fully armoured, certainly would have drawn attention, but would be more than capable of handling a band of Hill Tribe raiders or brigands. Which were only real dangers that they should face according to Tyrion and Sansa. Her people would have contacted her by now if they could, which meant they were either severely delayed, or they had run into trouble. She shuddered at the implications of the latter possibility.

A shout from their right drew their attention. Turning their heads to the source, Yara Greyjoy greeted them both with a nod.

"Yara, what is it?" Daenerys inquired, eyebrow raised.

The woman gestured behind her with her thumb, "That smartarse you have set up in the Library asked me to come get you. Says he found something in that 'pile of burnt shit' you gave him last night. His words, not mine."

Daenerys rolled her eyes. "Well then, let's not keep him waiting." With that, they fell in behind Yara, the three women walking towards the gates of Winterfell.

* * *

To anyone who grew up in Winterfell, the castle's library was totally unrecognizable. Books and parchment were pulled from the shelves, scattered or stacked on every available surface. A weapons crate and all of its contents occupied an entire table near the end opposite where Daenerys and her companions had entered, alongside two cots that belonged to the two people charged with guarding the room's one permanent occupant.

Said occupant was currently hunched over the table in the middle of the room, glancing back and forth between a burned piece of parchment and a notebook he was writing in, whilst apparently arguing (ranting?) with a female soldier that was sitting with her feet propped up just an arm's length away from his head. Gnasher cradled in her arms as she smiled and nodded towards the new arrivals.

"...marching for weeks, averaging an hour of sleep a day, you'd think I'd be given a chance to at least get a good night's sleep. But noooo!" Baird droned out, totally oblivious to the three newcomers, "Instead I'm handed a stack of burned paper and asked to somehow make heads or tails of it 'as soon as possible'!"

"Forgive me my apparent indifference, Damon." Daenerys said casually in a voice that carried. "But we are on a rather short string."

One of the arrivals from the night before was her 'intelligence specialist', Damon Baird. Starting out as one of the thousands of recruits to Daenerys' army when she and her people had retreated to Braavos three years ago, Baird's adaptability in the field had quickly distinguished him from most of the other recruits. But what eventually set him apart entirely were his powers of observation.

Just months after the Locust began to lay siege to the city, he had casually pointed out how more time would pass between Locust attacks whenever a Kantus was killed. Not having the slightest clue what he was talking about, Daenerys had asked that he explain. So, he showed her his 'workshop'.

Over the course of the six months he had been fighting for her, he'd also been gathering any and every piece of parchment and equipment he could, trying to figure out their significance to the Locust. 'Know your enemy as you know yourself', he had said. One thing he found was a dispatch that had been stolen from one of their scouts, translated into Locust runes. Using this as a key, he had actually been able to translate the Locust runes that were on some of the armour pieces and other locust dispatches he had scavenged from battle. He expressed surprise that nobody else had thought to do this. When Daenerys asked why he hadn't come forward with his findings sooner, he defended that it was something he assumed they had already figured out, and were just keeping it under wraps so that the Locust wouldn't figure out they had cracked their code.

Such is how he came to be her lead translator and intelligence officer, a title that only slightly went to his head. The man truly was a genius, and didn't shy away from saying so to anyone who incurred his ire. He was also incredibly sarcastic and often tactless, which motivated many of Dany's officers to limit their exposure to him as much as possible. The men she had on rotation to guard him, something he resented since he felt he was more than capable of defending himself, were some of the least envied troops in her army. Still, despite his many complaints, he took his job seriously. And when he said he had something of strategic importance to say, everyone listened.

Baird stilled, looking out the corner of his eye to the woman sitting next to him, a shit-eating grin splitting her face.

"Sam?" he said flatly. Samantha Byrne, one of Dany's best scouts and the only one who could match Baird's wit and attitude, blow for blow, smiled innocently.

"Yes, sweetcheeks?" Her inquisitive tone did nothing to cover up her amusement.

"How long has she been standing there?" Baird deadpanned back, thoroughly unamused by the nickname.

"Long enough to know that you're just as sociable as ever, Damon." Daenerys answered, amusement filling her tone as well.

Baird cleared his throat as he finally lifted his gaze to the three who had entered his domain. Daenerys took a dramatic look around at the chaotic workspace. "I see you've settled in well."

Baird smirked at that, "What can I say? Their setup wasn't working for me."

"Yara tells me you have something?" Daenerys shot back, face turning serious.

Sobering quickly, Baird picked up the stack of burned parchment he had been looking at a minute ago. "Right. So, I haven't gotten through all of it yet, obviously. I mean, there's a lot here, and there's only so much one guy can do in a day." Daenerys raised her brow, knowing this was just Baird's process. You had to let him talk it out. While it was informative at times, now it was just grating on her nerves. "But I was able to translate what looks like the important bits." Putting down the stack, he then picked up his notebook. "You were right, for the most part. The army that attacked this place a month ago was a splinter force, meant to wipe out the leadership of this continent. They were supposed to fortify and hold the castle to, and I quote, 'Ensure the heretics are distracted, so that our main force may invade ten moons hence.' end quote."

At this, Daenerys' eyes widened in stunned disbelief, "Ten moons? As in, ten MONTHS?"

Baird, not looking up from his notes, turned to another page in his book, "Yeah, from what I've been able to sparse out, their plan was to draw everyone north, then attack what they refer to as 'the mountains to the south and east'. Not sure what they meant by that, whether it was one mountain range to the southeast, or two that were south and east, respectively. Point is, whatever they're planning isn't going to happen for at least another nine months. Probably longer, since their plan fai…"

Baird trailed off, suddenly noticing with surprised alarm the look of abject horror that had spread over on Dany's face.

_Mountains to the south east… No, it couldn't be. If that were the case, we would have heard SOMETHING about it by now… If not from my people than from the smallfolk that have been trickling in… _

"Excuse me, General."

The voice actually made her jump, so engrossed was she in her own thoughts. Spinning around, she was met with the concerned gaze of one of her lieutenants, the same one who had given her the report on her forces' movements the night before. She looked as though she was about to apologize for startling her, but Daenerys quickly waved a hand and cut her off, "What is it, Anya?"

The young blonde shifted her gaze to the others in the room, before straightening and addressing her leader, "A Lord Baratheon arrived at our southern perimeter half an hour ago, along with a light escort bannermen. He said he came from…"

"What!?" Daenerys cut her off, sudden dread creeping up her spine.

Anya's eyebrows shot up at the shortness in her General's tone, "He's waiting for you in the Great Hall, General. I left him with a light guard, along with Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos."

But Daenerys was already out the door, making a beeline for the Great Hall. Sansa, Yara, and Anya followed closely behind, leaving a dumbfounded Baird and a somewhat disturbed Sam in their wake.

* * *

Tyrion Lannister paced nervously back and forth across the width of Winterfell's Great Hall, accompanied by Bran's recently arrived Master of Ships, Ser Davos Seaworth. The old smuggler had been enjoying a state of semi-retirement due to the loss of foreign trade over the last few years. While Tyrion normally would have found solace in his company, the presence of the even more recently arrived Gendry Baratheon replaced that solace with a sense of impending doom.

The young man in question was just as nervous, though for an entirely different reason than what plagued the Hand of the King. While he was stunned by the news he had received via raven, that Daenerys Targaryen was alive and leading yet another army in an effort to save humanity, he knew he was one of the very few that stood up for her at the Great Counsel, along with Yara Greyjoy and Quentyn Martell. Thus, he was reasonably certain that whatever ill will she bared towards any of the people of Westeros, if any, none of it would be directed at him.

No, the reason for _his_ nervousness was what came after the news of Daenerys's resurrection. That Arya Stark, long presumed dead, was alive and well. Holding a position of high esteem in the Targaryen army. That news was the main reason he had come to Winterfell personally instead of sending a rider.

"Where is the queen?" Gendry asked, breaking the silence that had enveloped them since the lieutenant had left.

"She's on her way…" one of the men in strange armour stated in a bland tone. After the lieutenant, whom he heard one of the men refer to as Stroud, received him at the southern gate, he ordered his men to wait there while she and two of her soldiers escorted him to the Great Hall, "...and she's not your queen anymore."

They found Tyrion and Ser Davos discussing the logistics of food allocation when he was brought to the Great Hall. Davos had beamed upon seeing his surrogate son, wrapping him in a fatherly embrace seconds after he walked into the hall. Tyrion, on the other hand, immediately adopted a look of concern, extending his greetings before asking what he was doing here. Before he could explain, Lieutenant Stroud had rushed out of the Hall to go find Daenerys. That was at least half an hour ago.

Gendry was startled out of his musings by a loud bang, as the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open, the subject of their short exchange walking menacingly towards them. She was flanked by the lieutenant, along with Sansa Stark and Yara Greyjoy. All three women were wearing similar armour to what the lieutenant was wearing, although Sansa's and Yara's both looked newer, with less wear and tear. Sansa was also sporting the beginnings of a black eye, something that Gendry very deliberately avoided looking at the moment he noticed it, focusing his attention on the woman who had given him his title.

"Lord Baratheon," she greeted, her face briefly transforming to one of warmth and welcome, "while it is good to see you again, I must admit I wasn't planning on remaking your acquaintance for many months, and certainly not here." At this, she resumed her look of distinct displeasure, "So I hope you won't take offense when I ask, what the HELL are you doing here? I distinctly remember ordering all peoples south of the Neck to divert to either Moat Cailin, or the VALE." she directed this last statement at Tyrion, who flinched at the biting tone that accompanied her last word.

Gendry, unaware and unburdened by the larger picture, easily fell into the explanation he had started to give the others prior to Anya's abrupt departure. "Well, most of my people, and my bannermen, are moving north as we speak. I thought it prudent to travel ahead of my people to make sure there were adequate accommodations for our numbers. But when my scouts and I reached the Bloody Gate, we were turned away. I sent half my party back to tell my people to divert to Moat Cailin instead, and came here with the same objective as I did when I went to the Vale."

The Great Hall was silent as all waited for Dany to process this information. When she responded, her tone sent shivers of dread down everyone's spines.

"What do you mean, 'you were turned away'?"

Gendry swallowed nervously, realizing with jarring clarity that he was now the unwitting bearer of some apparently very bad news. "When I reached the Bloody Gate, the Vale knights demanded to know my reason for being there. I told them about the letter you had sent me, but they didn't seem to know what I was talking about."

"What about my men?" Daenerys wasn't bothering to hide the nervousness in her tone now.

"Your men?" Gendry's look of confusion poured ice into her veins.

"I sent 30 soldiers ahead to secure the approach to the Vale, and ensure their cooperation. You should have met them on your way to, or at the Bloody Gate!" she was using every shred of her self control to keep from going into a full-blown panic.

"I'm sorry, your Gr… Daenerys? But I didn't see any of your men on the way to the Vale. The first I saw were those you had stationed at Moat Cailin."

A deafening silence fell over the room for nearly a full minute as Daenerys stood unmoving, digesting this information. Finally, it was Anya who broke the silence.

"General? What are your orders?" She leaned over to try and catch her leader's eye.

Daenerys snapped out of it and immediately fixed her officer with a look of deathly seriousness.

"Go find Grey Worm, and have him gather the Wolf Pack, then find Jon. Have them meet me at the airfield within the hour. Full combat loadout. We may be heading into a fight." Anya nodded curtly, before turning around and jogging out of the Great Hall. Daenerys then turned her focus to Sansa, who shared a look of alarm with the other occupants of the room. "I hope you're not afraid of heights."

* * *

The entire camp was buzzing with increased activity and excitement as the three hundred men and women of the Wolf Pack gathered at the 'airfield', a large patch of ground on the western side of the camp where the ten dragons Daenerys arrived with had set up their nest. However, Sansa was experiencing a distinct lack of excitement, thanks in part to the death glare being sent her way by Drogon, as well as most of the soldiers securing their gear for the flight to the Vale.

"I don't know what good bringing me along could possibly do, commander. I've already told you everything you'll need to know for when you meet with the lords and knights of the Vale." She told Daenerys, a nervous tremor in her voice as she stared back at the large dragon, now commonly referred to as the 'Red Dread' by the many Northmen in camp.

As the two women had waited at the airfield for the Wolf Pack to assemble, Sansa had given Dany a detailed debrief on the Knights of the Vale, and more specifically, Yohn Royce and Robin Arryn. The former was likely to be the biggest problem politically, being the staunchest opponent of Daenerys' aid in the battle of the Long Night, apart from Lord Glover, and of course Sansa herself. He had been against Daenerys from the very beginning, and her actions following the battle with the Night King, along with her demise following her burning of King's Landing, had only given him a self-righteous sense of smug satisfaction. One that, like Sansa's, had only grown more pronounced with time. But since the Vale was largely insulated from the rest of the world to begin with, they weren't nearly as affected by the recent famine sweeping across the continent as everyone else, which meant his arrogance, and that of the Vale, went unchecked by the humbling state of crisis Sansa had gone through. Both before and after Dany's return.

Sansa's cousin Robin, on the other hand, was a different headache all together. Sansa had only seen him twice in the last five years, and on both occasions, her interactions with him had been grueling, to say the least. He had lost some naivete with age, but being the Lord Protector of the Vale and the only living heir to House Arryn had done nothing to dampen his spoiled, self-important attitude. He was unpredictable in a socially clumsy, politically bungling sort of way, which was arguably the worst kind one could be, especially in their current situation.

Daenerys responded swiftly. "If half of what you told me about them is true, your presence may end up being the only thing that prevents me from slaughtering them and taking their kingdom by force." Sansa blanched at the statement, forcing Dany to backpedal a bit, "Not an outcome I would relish, mind you, but if they decide to be hostile, the fighting would be quick, and bloody. With or without my dragons." At that, Sansa had to agree. After seeing what the Locust weapons could do to her bannermen, she didn't like the chances of anyone who opposed Daenerys in battle that wasn't similarly armed. "Now, stop worrying. Drogon may remember my resentment towards you, but he doesn't know the full extent of your transgressions. Besides, you're riding with Grey Worm."

Dany's mate, on the other hand, had a far less optimistic view of the situation.

"How exactly do you expect _me_ to travel with you, Dany? I know we agreed to never be separated again, but I don't think your son shares that sentiment." Jon started nervously, keeping a safe distance. While Drogon wasn't fully aware of the role Sansa had played in his mother's demise, he still remembered who had killed his mother. Something that was blatantly clear when he growled lowly upon hearing Jon's voice.

Daenerys frowned in consternation, looking at her son with increased annoyance. She didn't begrudge her child his anger, but it did prove an obstacle. His attitude seemed to be rubbing off on the other dragons, and she couldn't have that.

"I suppose you could try to ride one of the other mounts. Rhaegal took to you well enough."

Jon frowned at the mention of his old mount, the one named after his father, the one that Euron Greyjoy had shot from the sky, thanks in part to the fact that he wasn't there to fly him out of harm's way.

"Alright. Which one?"

Daenerys looked to the other dragons, trying to puzzle out which one would be the most amicable to him. "Well, Grey Worm is riding Missandrys," she looked to the bronze dragon currently carrying her second in command and thirty Wolves on her back, awaiting Dany's signal to take flight, "And Eddaron has already grown quite attached to your sister." She looked to her right at a dragon with light grey scales, who looked somewhat put out at not having his own rider along for this journey. Arya was furious she wasn't coming with them. She loved any and every opportunity to ride her dragon, who, despite Arya's lack of Valyrian blood, had taken to her rather well. But someone Daenerys could trust needed to stay behind and run Winterfell, as well as look after Saera.

Daenerys raked her gaze over the other gathered dragons, before on one of the females, who for some reason was putting up a fuss when Dany's men tried to mount her. At realizing which one it was, her lips formed a knowing smile. "Why don't you try her?" She said, pointing.

Jon followed her finger to a large, blue dragon, with scales the color of winter roses. As he met eyes with the enormous beast, it calmed almost instantly. Jon was suddenly enveloped in a warm, calming sensation, as his feet unconsciously carried him over to where the dragon was standing. Daenerys watched with serene satisfaction as her mate walked ever closer to the female dragon, second in size only to her own mount. As he brushed his hand over her snout, she closed her eyes and let out a long, satisfied chirp, reminiscent when Jon had first met Drogon on the cliffs of Dragonstone all those years ago. An all-consuming sense of peace and belonging filled his being, as he closed his eyes and took in her presence. Everyone gathered was watching with rapt attention, those from Essos knowing they were bearing witness to a momentous occurrence. The bond of dragonrider to his mount.

"What's her name?" Jon rasped out, overwhelmed with the sense of calm that washed over him in waves. Daenerys had come over to join him, a tear trailing down her cheek as she whispered an answer.

"Lyannarys."

Jon's head snapped to the right as his eyes flew open and locked with hers, watching her nod in confirmation. Smiling with a joy he didn't know he was capable of feeling, he wiped the tear from her beautiful face with his thumb, before turning back to the equally beautiful creature.

His mother. Daenerys had named this dragon after his mother. Just as she had named his previous mount after her brother, his father. Jon felt a tinge of regret and self-loathing at the thought of his father's namesake. The mount he had failed by not being there to guide him out of harm's way. He quickly buried those feelings as he stared into the eyes of Lyannarys, who looked back at him expectantly. Jon knew what he needed to do.

Dropping his arm from her snout, he walked to her side as she lowered her shoulder, everyone holding their breath as they watched in awe. Gripping onto her scales, he hoisted himself up, much more gracefully than his first time with Rhaegal. Once he was situated at the center of her back, he looked to the men that had been gathered to mount her earlier, a smirk creeping its way onto his face.

"Sorry boys. Looks like you'll have to mount one of the others. This one's taken."

At that, Lyannarys let out a deep bellowing roar.

At long last, she had found her rider.

* * *

_**And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Please leave a comment. As I said at the beginning, reviews are what fuel and improve my writing, as well as give me ideas for future plot lines and character development.**_

_**Speaking of which, some of you Gears of War fans may have recognized some of the named characters I mentioned this chapter. Yes, I have decided to use some non-locust characters from the video game franchise, since Game of Thrones left us with a mostly gutted reserve of named characters to use. For those of you who aren't in the know, I'll leave their names in the "characters to look up" notes at the bottom. To those of you who are Gears fans, let me know in the comments what other characters you would like me to include from the franchise. Any you mention I will do my best to include in some way. Since they obviously won't have the same backstories they do in the games, I can take creative license with their origins, but still keep their personalities. Like a certain energetic Thrashball player. ;D**_

_**Characters to look up: Anya Stroud; Clayton Carmine; Damon Baird; Samantha Byrne.**_


	7. Emergence Day

_**Alright people. If you've played the game, you know what's coming.**_

_**Let us begin...**_

* * *

Chapter 7: Emergence Day

* * *

There were many times in Sansa's life when she experienced prolonged bouts of terror. Being held prisoner in King's Landing after her father was executed. Fleeing her ancestral home following her escape from Ramsay's clutches. Being trapped in the crypts when the Night King raised the dead. After all of that, Sansa didn't think there was anything else in this world that could truly terrify her.

But now, sitting on the back of a dragon thousands of feet in the air, she was forced to reassess that conviction. It was humbling, to say the least, knowing the only thing between her and gruesome death was the iron grip she had on the man sitting in front of her. She could remember Dany's words from several hours ago, just prior to their departure.

"_Just hold on tight, and enjoy the view." _Daenerys had said it so casually, like all Sansa would be doing was watching a show.

"_What if I fall?" _She had asked, looking up with trepidation at the hand Grey Worm had extended to help her up.

Daenerys had paused for a few moments, seemingly to seriously contemplate her question, before responding in the same tone as before, "_Try landing on your head. Your helmet may soften the landing."_

A powerful roar rang out to their left, jarring Sansa out of her memories and causing her to further tighten the grip she had on the Unsullied commander's waist. Jon flew by atop his new mount, letting out a howling cry of exhilaration.

Ever since Winterfell had faded from view, Jon and Daenerys had broken off from the rest of them, vanishing beneath the clouds only to reemerge some time later in a different spot from where they left. Sometimes far in the distance, other times right next to, or in the middle of their formation. Sansa had let out a loud curse of alarm when they had first done this, much to the amusement of the two other passengers accompanying her.

Carmine and Tormund had both volunteered to join the mission. Clayton was there to keep an eye on her, as well as to learn the fate of his older brother, who had been part of the unit sent to the Vale. Tormund's motives were a little less altruistic, as while everyone else was hoping to avoid a confrontation, he looked forward to one, itching for the chance to try out the chainsaw on his new lancer.

Sansa shook herself out of her startled state to watch Jon and Dany as they flew further into the sky, their dragons back to back as they spun through the air, getting closer and closer to each other before breaking apart and diving back towards the clouds. From what Sansa could see, the two leaders and lovers were having the time of their lives. Truly, Sansa was happy for them. Two Targaryens reunited, locked in a dance long thought lost to time. A Dance of Dragons.

The two of them disappeared beneath the clouds once again, but instead of lingering below, they reappeared less than a minute later, much to Sansa's surprise. Jon's dragon quickly moved forward, taking up a position at the front of the formation, while Daenerys came up alongside them. She gave a series of hand signals that Sansa couldn't understand, before moving on to the next dragon in the formation, presumably to relay the same message to the rest of her men.

"What is it?" Sansa shouted, nervousness tinting her voice. Daenerys was wearing a helmet, so Sansa couldn't read her face to determine the context of the message. But she'd FELT Grey Worm's body tense halfway through it. Adding to her nerves was the curse that Clayton let out, not quite masked by the wind rushing past their heads. She wished it had been.

Grey Worm waited as Daenerys relayed the message to the rest of the troops, picking up speed with the rest of the formation before turning his head to respond. "Something is wrong. There is smoke up ahead."

Confusion blended with her nervousness as they started to descend. Smoke could mean anything. It could be one of the Hill Tribes, or a hunting party's camp. But once they fell beneath the clouds, Sansa's heart sank as it became horrifyingly clear what he was talking about.

The picturesque view of the Mountains of the Moon an hour before twilight was marred by thick, black columns of smoke rising from a mountain peak in the distance, with dulled flashes followed by distant booms marking explosions. As they closed in, it quickly became clear that it wasn't a mountain peak at all, but a castle, built in the place of one. The Eyrie.

"We're too late." The hopelessness in Sansa's tone was palpable. She remembered her time in that castle, after fleeing from the capital with Little Finger. The men of House Arryn and the Knights of the Vale were good fighters, and honorable men. But they wouldn't last at all against a Locust assault. The condition of her own bannermen following the attack a month ago was proof enough of that.

"Maybe not. Look!" Claytons exclamation, along with the removal of one of his arms that secured her to the dragon, shook Sansa out of her self-pity long enough to see what he was pointing at. From a point near the top of the castle, a small white dot shot straight into the air, trailing its own little tail of grey smoke before exploding into a bright flash of orange light. "That's gotta be them!"

The lost detachment. The one that, according to Gendry, hadn't made it to the Bloody Gate as it should have weeks ago. The entire reason that they had come to The Vale in the first place.

The hope and exhilaration in Clayton's tone forced out the anguish that had infected Sansa's conscience. Daenerys, clearly having seen the flash as well, surged ahead of the formation as Drogon let out a deep, booming roar, pumping his wings and picking up speed. The other dragons quickly followed suit, answering with enthusiastic chirps and roars of their own. Jon's mount shot ahead of the rest, its rider urging it forward, determined not to let his mate face this fight alone.

As the dragon she sat on started picking up speed, Sansa began to tremble as she realized the true gravity of the situation. This was it. There was no avoiding it. Originally brought along as a simple liaison to help smooth over any tensions that may arise between Daenerys and the Lords of the Vale, now she was being thrust into the heat of battle. Not as a commander or leader, but as a soldier. A small cog in a very large machine of war. With only a week of training under her belt. She did her best to swallow her trepidation, the prospect of falling thousands of feet to her death seeming less and less terrifying by the second.

Grey worm leaned down, gripping the spines of his mount tighter as he whispered words of encouragement to his beloved's namesake.

"_Māzigon va, Missandrys. Aderes!" _

Letting out a fierce screech, the dragon pumped its wings, lurching forward to join its brothers and sisters.

* * *

The instant he fired the flare into the sky, Fahz threw himself back behind cover, shielding himself from the near-steady stream of hot steel projectiles that were immediately sent his way.

When he had volunteered to join the unit assigned to secure The Vale, this was not how he expected things to turn out.

It seemed like such an easy mission in his head; Two weeks on horseback at a steady clip to reach the Bloody Gate, wow the locals with their armour and weapons into letting them have an audience with the Arryn brat, secure the Eyrie, then send word to Daenerys that they were ready to start receiving refugees. Sure, that last bit may have been a little optimistic, but Fahz figured they would have plenty of time to prepare. It was a lengthy endeavour, relocating nearly thirty million people.

But if the last five years of his life should have taught him anything, it's that _nothing_ was _ever _that easy.

Instead of being greeted with hospitality, they arrived at the Bloody Gate to find it completely locked down, with a thousand archers aiming at them, and a fat old cunt in plate armour telling them to piss off. So, after spending _another_ two weeks traversing these dumb as shit mountains on foot, carefully bypassing the Bloody Gate and the three way-castles between it and the Eyrie, they finally arrived at their destination this morning.

Only for the damn Locust Horde to launch a full scale attack less than an hour after they set foot inside the castle's walls.

Now here he was, hiding behind the half-wall of crumbling stone, cradling his Longshot and praying to every god he could think of that those ten dots he saw in the distance were more than just a tiny flock of birds too stupid to stay away.

The door in the floor leading up to the tower flew open, scaring him shitless as he immediately leveled his weapon at the opening. Only to lower it half a second later as he let out a sigh of relief at the sight of his commander.

"Fenix, thank gods, mate! You scared the…"

"Why the FUCK did you fire that flare!? The Grubs have doubled their efforts to destroy this place!" The gravel in Marcus's voice only added to the anger and of his tone. As if to punctuate his statement, a series of heavy explosions rocked the castle, followed by the rumbling crash of another tower collapsing into rubble.

"I thought I saw some of our dragons to the north, and figured it was better to let them know we were here than just sit here on my arse doing nothing!" It was a valid point. The number of usable towers had shrunk considerably with the arrival of Locust artillery half an hour ago, and it didn't take the grubs long to figure out where Fahz was after that. His lack of fire after a Siegebeast had blown off the top of his tower had caused them to ease up somewhat, but firing that flare had quickly put an end to that.

Marcus let out a grunt of frustration. He didn't begrudge Fahz this small act of hope. The reality of their situation was depressing, to say the least.

Fighting since midday, they had lost half of their thirty men already, with four wounded being taken care of by their one surviving medic. Those who were left standing were getting dangerously low on ammo. Marcus was the only one left still using his lancer. Fahz was down to his last dozen rounds for his Longshot, and the rest were down to their boltoks at this point, gnashers being useless in the current situation. And that was just _their_ forces.

Half a day of fighting had taken an even worse toll on the local bannermen. Lord Royce, who had been shocked to see them after turning them away at arrowpoint two weeks ago, was trying to rally the hundred or so archers he had left, something that would be difficult for any commander when hundreds already lay dead at his feet. Marcus had listened when Sansa Stark briefed them on the various Lords of the Vale. Royce was a decent man, but more suited to leading a cavalry charge, not fending off a siege. Robin Arryn was totally useless. Initially indignant and hauty upon finding the Wolf Pack at his doorstep, and completely disbelieving of their claims about the Locust Horde, his bravado quickly fell away when thousands of grubs blasted their way out of the mountainsides surrounding them. Last anyone had seen him, he'd collapsed into hysterics, snivelling in a corner somewhere like a toddler who'd had his favorite doll taken away from him.

All in all, their situation was bleak. Frankly, if Marcus had seen what Fahz claimed he had seen, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have done the same thing.

"Look, Fahz, we would all love to have some air support right now, but the general and her dragons are hundreds of miles away, and the grubs destroyed the rookery before we could get a message out. So as much as it kills me to say it, we're on our…"

The cacophony of gunfire and explosions abruptly ceased, eerie silence taking its place.

"What the hell…?" Marcus looked at Fahz with nervous confusion, both wondering why the Locust would stop their attack so suddenly. Then, after several tense seconds of holding their breath, they heard it… a long, piercing screech.

A shit-eating grin stretched across Fahz's face, as Marcus's jaw went slack in total disbelief.

"You've gotta be shitting me…"

In the blink of an eye, a loud, deafening roar echoed off the mountains, as the massive, powerful form of the Red Dread soared over their heads. Engulfing the causeway leading up to the castle in a red-orange column immolation, as a light blue dragon unleashed its own fiery fury on the mountainside to the north.

"Ooooh yes!" Fahz shot to his feet, adrenaline flooding his system as eight more dragons crested the mountains to the northeast and northwest. "YES! YOU BEAUTIFUL BABIES, YES! THE CAVALRY HAS ARRIVED!"

All at once, the Locust forces frantically resumed their fire, forcing Fahz and Marcus back behind cover even as the grubs began to focus on the powerful beasts that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Upon finishing his strafing run of the causeway, Drogon sunk his talons into the back of a Siegebeast, coincidentally the same one that hit Fahz's tower not ten minutes ago. Lifting it into the air and dropping it into the gorge below.

Thousands falling to the air superiority of Daenerys and her dragons, the Locust began a hasty retreat back below ground. The tide seeming to turn once more in favor of humanity…

* * *

No more than five minutes had passed since they arrived and the fighting drew to a close. But to the former Queen in the North, it might as well have been five hours. Watching awestruck as Grey Worm unleashed hell upon the monsters that had all but destroyed what she thought to be an impregnable fortress, Sansa believed she finally had a small understanding of what it was to be a dragonrider. Granted, she wasn't the one flying, and she was mostly petrified the entire time. Even so, the feeling as she watched thousands being immolated by the dragon beneath her was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her entire life.

As silence fell once more over the vast mountain range, Sansa was finally shaken out of her reverie by Clayton, who was yelling something in her ear.

"...hey! I said get ready, we're landing!"

Sansa turned her head to face the ancient seat of House Arryn, a foreboding sensation settling in her gut at its sorry state. More than half of the castle had been reduced to rubble, smoke belching into the sky as certain parts crumbled before their very eyes. The causeway leading up to the castle was burning and collapsed in several places, dashing any hope of leaving by land. She was suddenly relieved that only four of the maximum thirty soldiers sat atop the other seven dragons. They would need the room to evacuate as many as possible…

Grey Worm brought Missandrys in to land next to Jon and Daenerys, who had already dismounted and were waiting in the middle of the courtyard. After getting over the spine-rattling jolt of the dragon impacting with the ground, Sansa quickly climbed down, taking Grey Worm's offered hand to help her disembark.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, Sansa was struck by the horrifying number of bodies that littered the ground, spread out among the collapsed columns that once held up a roof that had long been lost to weather and time.

Sansa followed the others as they walked over to meet up with Jon and Daenerys, their mounts taking to the skies once more to make room for the other dragons. As the combined group made their way across the courtyard, the massive entrance doors opened with a groan, four figures coming out to greet them. Lord Royce was the only one she recognized, the others were Dany's men.

The one leading the group, evidently their leader, was a man who appeared to be in his thirties, wearing a rag with a three-headed dragon emblem on his head. Behind him was a man who looked to be around her own age, hair cut into a strip running down the middle of his head. The third wore a helmet masking his features and who he was, until Clayton suddenly called out to him.

"Derek!" running out ahead of the group, the two met ahead of the rest of them in a crushing embrace.

"Clay! Look at you, saving the day! You're making me look bad."

"Good to see you too, big brother." they released each other as Sansa and the others met up with them, along with Lord Royce and the other two.

"Sergeant Fenix, Corporal Chutani, good to see you and the eldest Carmine brother in the land of the living. What's the situation?" loath as she was to break up the happy reunion, they had business to attend to.

The man with rag on his head answered, marking him as the sergeant, "We've been fighting since midday, general. Half the Wolves are dead, four are injured, and the rest of us are seriously low on ammo-"

"I'm sorry," Lord Royce interrupted, much to the anger and annoyance of the sergeant, "but what the hell is going on, and just who in seven hells are you?"

Daenerys, without removing her helmet, turned to face the Lord of Runestone, answering in a clipped tone. "Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen. Apologies, lord Royce, I don't believe I made your acquaintance the last time I was in Westeros. Nor do I care to now." The old Knight stood stunned, taken aback by both her biting tone and the fact that she was alive. "When I received the raven from Sansa Stark, telling me of your return to the mortal realm, I assumed it was a sick joke."

"Excuse me!?" Daenerys shot back with furious incredulity, immediately shifting her focus back to the sergeant, "They received our message?"

"Yep. Arrived at the Bloody Gate two weeks ago just as planned, only to be met by an army of archers and this old shit tellin' us to fuck off, back to our 'Dragon Bitch', I believe it was." Fahz answered tactlessly, a smug smile on his face. "We only just got here this morning."

Daenerys returned her gaze to the aging knight, voice menacing as she addressed him, "Well, Lord Royce, in answer to your original question, it seems what is going on is rather simple. You turned away the only people equipped to deal with the Locust threat, then got fucked in the arse for it, only to be saved by those very same people, and then myself…_Yet again._"

Feeling the tension rise by the second, Sansa felt it was time she intervened. "Lord Royce," she said, taking off her helmet so he could actually see her face. "I had the same misgivings as you when Daenerys returned, but if the state of the Eyrie is any indication, the threat we now face is far greater than any humanity has ever seen! I sent that message so that you could prepare the Vale to become a safe haven for the citizens of Westeros while its soldiers could fight alongside Daenerys and her people to defeat that threat. Just as we did during the Long Night."

As she spoke, people started coming out of the castle. Most of the men of the Vale were in various stages of shock or injury, while the rest of Dany's men made for the courtyard's perimeter. It was then that Sansa noticed Jon, who had been oddly quiet despite the rising tensions and insults to his lover, and was also still wearing his helmet. He was staring up at one of the dragons, which was coming in for a landing. "Jon?"

He turned his head, slowly shifting his gaze to rake over the mountains surrounding them, before meeting hers as he drew his lancer. "Something's wrong…"

There was something in his voice, a foreboding intonation, that made all of the blood drain from her face, as her heartbeat started to pound in her ears.

"What is it, Jon?" Daenerys and the others immediately drew their weapons as well. He answered back, his tone unchanged.

"It's too quiet…"

Terror had frozen Sansa in place. Looking past Jon's shoulder, a crow landed on a piece of rubble, it's eyes milky white as they looked directly into hers. It started to caw, the sound adding a chilling effect to the silence that had consumed the courtyard. Calling out to her as if in fear. In warning…

Suddenly, something whizzed past her head and impacted the column she was standing next to, and a low hissing filled her ears. She had just enough time to turn her head, seeing what looked like the back end of a crossbow bolt, before Daenerys called out to her.

"SANSA! GET-"

Then the world exploded.

* * *

Over the last month, the great hall of Winterfell had transformed from a rarely-used meeting and eating place, into the central logistics hub for any and everything that went on in and around the castle. Stewards, maesters, lords and ladies would flow in and out over the course of the day to report on the various happenings to either Daenerys, Jon, or a member of their officer corps.

But now, the great hall was silent. The only ones present being Tyrion, Gendry, Samwell Tarly, Arya, and Maester Wolkan, waiting for a report on Dany's mission to The Vale from Bran. Daenerys had left several hours ago, and should have arrived by now. The Three Eyed Raven sat at the front of the room, eyes a milky white as he observed what was happening hundreds of miles away.

Suddenly, Bran jerked as he came back to his body, gasping as he recovered from whatever he had seen, getting the full attention of all who were present. After taking a few seconds to recover, his expression turned somber as he met the eyes of everyone in the room, bringing his gaze to rest on Maester Wolkan.

"Get your private surgery ready and have medical tents prepared; we'll have wounded coming in."

Maester Wolkan nodded in morbid understanding, then left to fulfill his orders. Arya sat for several seconds in stunned despair. Gendry, noticing this, spoke what was on everyone's mind, "What happened?"

Bran answered as neutrally as he always did, "The Locust have laid siege to the Eyrie."

"Is Daenerys injured?" Samwell abruptly asked. Arya turned a critical gaze at him, her faceless man training kicking in. She heard a small, hopeful inflection to his question. A possibility that disgusted, but would not surprise her.

By the end of Dany's first week at Winterfell, the contents of that first Great Hall meeting had disseminated to everyone in and around the castle, who in turn would spread it to anyone that arrived as time progressed. Soon, it became common knowledge to the people of North that they were once again facing a malevolent force, this time one that had already wiped out most of humanity in more than half of the known world; all thanks to the actions of four individuals. And Samwell Tarly was one of them.

However, while this may have earned each of those four the contempt of every man and woman in Winterfell, Tarly was by far the largest recipient of said contempt. And after five years serving alongside Tyrion on Bran's small counsel, it didn't take him long to figure out why.

Sansa, in addition to willfully abdicating the northern crown, was still the Lady of Winterfell, and ran the castle with an efficiency that none could match without adequate time to learn how, a luxury that they did not have. She was also by far the most outwardly remorseful of them, at least as far as Arya could tell.

Tyrion was Hand to the monarch of the six southern kingdoms, and while his past had proven his ineptitude in all things military, his understanding of the people of Westeros gave him value as a cultural advisor, if nothing else.

Then there was Bran, the man who, to any objective mind, was the one _most_ directly responsible for Daenerys Targaryen's downfall, and therefore the rise of the Locust Horde. But he was also the repository of every single event that had taken place in Westeros over the last eight thousand years, and was capable of seeing the memories of everyone who had ever lived during that time. Combined with his ability to warg, this allowed him to actually see any and everything that was happening in Westeros, essentially in real time. For as long as it happened before the present moment, he could see it if someone else had. So while he may have been the most responsible of the four, he was also the most valuable.

That left Sam. A fat, weak-willed coward who shoved a wedge between Jon and Dany for no other reason than to inflict emotional pain on the latter, without any regard for how it would affect the former. Whose only attributes were a thirst for knowledge, and a moderate understanding of medicine and history.

His status as a self-confessed coward made him unfit for any sort of combat role. His entirely self-serving motivations behind his part in Dany's death destroyed any chance of being trusted with any tactical information. The abundance of medical professionals brought by Daenerys from Essos and the other lords of the North completely negated any contribution he could make medically, as well as the fact that no one would trust him to operate on them. And his knowledge of history was rendered entirely worthless, just as Bran's was, due to the fact that the enemy they now faced predated humanity itself.

All of this added up to one irrevocable, and inescapable fact: Samwell Tarly was entirely expendable. And he knew it.

Ignoring for the moment his possible desire to see Daenerys injured, she turned her focus back to her brother, who answered Tarly's question with the same emotionless monotone he had become famous for.

"Not Daenerys…Sansa." Arya's breath hitched. She may have still been angry with Sansa for the role she played in killing their niece, as well as the fact that by playing that role, she had betrayed the memory of their father by breaking a vow. One she had made in the Godswood of their family home, no less. But at the end of the day, Sansa was still her family; her blood. Sansa may have left the pack, but that didn't mean she couldn't come back to it.

But Sansa being wounded wasn't the only thing Bran had to offer them, as he continued to speak to those gathered in the great hall. "They appeared to arrive just in time to repel a Locust assault on the Eyrie, but the enemy's retreat seems to have just been a ruse to bring them to ground. The crow I was using to see them was killed just after Sansa was hit by some kind of explosive arrow or crossbow bolt…"

The entire Shivering Sea seemed to fill Arya's veins at that revelation, her hand twitching subconsciously as if to reach for the weapon that was hanging from her back. A Torque Bow.

Arya had faced every horror the Locust Horde had in their army. She knew all of their ranks, and all of their weapons. And she knew the significance of each and every one.

The blast that hit Sansa had come from the bolt of Torque Bow. A weapon carried only by the Locust Elite. The Theron Guards. Arya started to tremble, knowing that if Therons were there, _he _was likely there as well…

Standing abruptly, she left the room without a word. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she couldn't sit in the same room with two of the people responsible for Dany's death one moment longer. In her more reflective moments, she realized how easily she could have been one of them. She had given off her own share of animosity towards Daenerys, never even introducing herself to the woman that had saved their lives for the entirety of her stay at Winterfell.

But by never interacting with Daenerys the first time, she had also never done anything against her. She had kept her word to Jon, never telling anyone his parentage, nor confirming it once it had been revealed. She had left Westeros to get away from it all, not really knowing if she would ever really return. But the Lord of Light seemed to have different plans.

Just two weeks after discovering that the world was round, a Leviathan laid waste to her fleet in the Leviathan Sound. She had washed ashore on a piece of debri, and spent the next six months slowly making her way south and west. She lost count of how many times she was nearly killed traversing the Bone Mountains and crossing the Red Waste. Unbeknownst to her, the very heart of Locust territory.

When she finally made it to Meereen, said to be a safe haven by the few humans she had come across, the city was completely besieged. She had snuck her way into the Great Pyramid using the face of a dead soldier, only to come face to face with a woman she had long thought to be dead. A weapon across her back and a raven haired infant resting on her hip. All of her faceless man training seemed to fall completely out of her head at that moment. Her love for Jon returning full force, unflinching devotion to his child and its mother following soon after. She would always be grateful for retaining her father's sense of honor, her status as the only Stark who hadn't betrayed Daenerys allowing her to swiftly form a bond with the woman who had given birth to her niece. A bond that had grown as strong as Valyrian steel, shedding blood and sweat in battle after battle, fighting side by side. Together.

She prayed she would get the chance to again.

* * *

The blinding flash and ear-splitting _*crack* _of the explosion that went off next to Sansa's head was clearly some sort of signal, as all at once the courtyard was riddled with the same projectiles, causing a cacophony of explosions that sent Jon and everyone around him sprawling to the ground, completely disoriented.

As he slowly lifted his head, ears ringing, he looked around deliriously at the chaos unfolding around him. The first thing he saw was Sansa lying on her back, bloodied hands covering the right side of her face, mouth open wide in what must have been an agonizing scream, as one of Dany's men tried to tend to her. Was it one of the Carmine brothers? He couldn't be sure. His head was pounding, muffled explosions and bursts of gunfire coming from every direction. He turned his head and saw Daenerys and her men firing in all directions from behind a collapsed column, and looked past them to see the mountains surrounding them blow apart from the inside, dozens of Corpsers rising up in their place. Rising to his hands and knees, he watched as they quickly retreated back below, replaced by creatures he had not yet seen. A massive barrel was mounted on the wrists of each creature, with an even bigger, longer one mounted on their backs. His hearing was starting to return, as he heard someone belt out a muffled scream, heralding the arrival of this new menace. "_Brumaks!" _

"**JON!"**

All at once his hearing rushed back with the call from his mate, all of his senses coming into focus along with it. His head snapped to where she was crouched behind cover, firing blindly as another explosion went off on the other side of it. He quickly scrambled over to join her, grabbing his dropped lancer on the way.

"We need to clear this courtyard and get back in the air! The castle is lost!" she yelled into his ear, barely audible over the din of battle. Suddenly there was the sound of clanging metal, Jon following Dany's gaze to the edge of the courtyard, where sizable three-pronged hooks shot over the ledge to latch onto the rubble surrounding them.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, buried beneath the terror and fear, Jon was furious with himself for allowing them to fall into such an obvious trap. The enemy had retreated much too quickly when they arrived to be surprised. They had been waiting for them. The officer, Fenix, had said they'd been fighting since midday, that their supplies were nearly depleted. The Locust had had more than enough to take the Eyrie, especially with how few men the Knights of the Vale had at their disposal. But they hadn't, and their reasoning was now painfully clear.

Jon took stock of their position. Dany, Fenix, Fahz, and himself were all behind the same collapsed column, near the middle of the courtyard, about forty yards away from the doors of the castle. Behind them and to their left, the carmine brothers were hunched behind a pile of rubble, the older one, Derek, trying to assess Sansa's injuries. With them was Lord Royce and three other Wolves that were up and fighting, along with the four wounded ones from the unit they had come to rescue in the first place. The other troops from that unit were currently being overwhelmed and gunned down by strange looking Locust that had grappled over the sides of the courtyard. Tormund, meanwhile, was off to their right, amazingly holding his own as he cut through drone after drone, bellowing at the top of his lungs in typical wildling berserker fashion.

Making his mind up, Jon rose from cover and joined Dany and the others in dispatching the locust massing on the perimeter. Their armour was more extensive than what he had seen other drones wear, covering more of their upper body, and had what looked like long strips of leather hanging from the backs of their waists. And rather than Lancers, they carried the same sideways crossbows that Arya and Grey Worm had. Ducking back behind cover to reload, he looked at Dany, who seemed to read the question in his eyes.

"They're Theron Guards. The best soldiers in the Locust Horde. We can't beat them with the men we have. Retreat is our only option." At that moment, fire engulfed the perimeter as Drogon, Lyannarys, and Missandyrs slammed into the ground several yards ahead of them, the other dragons providing what cover they could as they dodged heavy fire from the Brumaks that surrounded them.

"This is our only chance. ALL TROOPS, MAKE FOR THE DRAGONS!"

Everyone made a mad dash for Dany's and Jon's mounts, while both leaders and Tormund stayed to provide cover fire for Sansa and the other wounded. As the last of the men were climbing atop Lyannarys, Jon turned to join them when a high-pitched scream came from the castle itself.

Jon and the others turned around to see Robin Arryn burst through the doors, head turned over his shoulder, clearly running from something that was evidently more scary than what was outside. He made it halfway to their position, locking eyes with Jon just in time for him to see the petrified look on the young man's face, before his head suddenly exploded into chunks of bone and greymatter.

Jon's gaze followed the headless body as it slowly collapsed to the ground, before Dany's breathy utterance of the word "No," brought his gaze to the entrance of the once glorious castle.

Standing in the middle of the open doorway, arm outstretched with a smoking boltok in hand, was a single locust. He was dressed in the same accoutrement as the therons Dany had mentioned, only his armour was pitch black, with an additional leather strip hanging from the front of his waist. He was also noticeably taller, and wore no helmet to shield them from his cold, glowing red eyes. As the locust lowered his arm, Jon heard Dany's voice tremble as she breathed out the name of this horrifying figure.

"Raam…"

Suddenly, a deep, bellowing warcry rang out to Jon's right as Tormund charged, letting off a continuous stream of hot lead from his lancer. Not even flinching, Raam lifted his gauntleted left arm to shield his face from the oncoming fire as he holstered his boltok. Just before Tormund reached his target, his lancer clicked, announcing to both himself and Raam that he was out of ammo. Undeterred, the wildling berserker revved his chainsaw and swung with all his might…

For Jon, time seemed to slow as he watched what happened next.

In one swift, fluid move, Raam lowered his left arm and grabbed Tormund's lancer with his right hand, crushing the sputtering chainsaw before ripping the weapon from his grasp, jerking the wildling forward in the process. Bringing his left arm back up, he closed his hand around Tormund's throat, lifting him into the air as the man pounded uselessly on his wrist. Shifting his gaze to look straight into Jon's eyes, Raam produced a massive, serrated knife from the small of his back…and buried it to the hilt in Tormund's abdomen.

"**NOOOOOOOOOO!"**

Raam withdrew the blade several inches, only to twist and bury it in the wildling's gut yet again, before wrenching it sideways. Eyes still locked with each other's, Jon watched as Raam ripped his friend completely in half, tossing his torso to the side as his legs fell uselessly to the ground.

Jon's vision turned red as he lunged forward, only to be stopped by Dany's hand.

"No, Jon! We have to go! NOW!"

Sparing a final glance at his best friend's corpse, Jon let out a grunted curse as he turned, making a run for his mount.

Raam watched placidly as the three dragons took to the skies, dozens of Theron Guards coming to join him from within the castle itself.

As the sun finally fell below the horizon, Jon and Dany were met with a soul-crushing sight as they made for the clouds. All across the Vale, massive explosions lit up the night, marking the destruction of the castles and keeps of the most impregnable region of Westeros. From thousands of feet in the air, the very ground seemed to shift and flow like mud, as MILLIONS of Locust troops emerged from beneath the Mountains of the Moon.

The Vale, long thought by all to be utterly impervious to invasion, had fallen to the Locust Horde. Taking with it any hope of providing a safe haven for the civilians of Westeros. As much as the day Daenerys Targaryen returned to Winterfell had been one of great victory and triumph, this day would come to be known as one of tremendous, grievous loss. One that would mark the true beginning of their long and bloody struggle to reclaim their world: Emergence Day...

* * *

_**Māzigon va, Missandrys. Aderes! = Come on, Missandrys. Faster!**_

_**People to look up: Marcus Fenix; Fahz Chutani**_

_**Enemies to look up: Uzil Raam; Theron Guard; Leviathan; Siegebeast; Brumak**_

_**For those that have been with this story from the beginning, I changed the title of chapter 2 from "Emergence" to "Introductions", because I realized its similarity to this chapter's title might be confusing. Plus, "Introductions" just fits better with what all happens in Chapter 2.**_

_**PLEASE leave a review. Your feedback drives my will to write. Ask questions. Tell me what you think. Just PLEASE leave something. **_


	8. Why We Fight

_**I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! :D**_

_**Seven goddamn hells, it is SO good to be back at my keyboard! I will always return, my loyal readers. Global pandemic, BE DAMNED!**_

_**I deeply apologize for not getting this out on Tuesday. I wrote this chapter with the anniversary in mind. May Dipshit and Dumbfuck burn in all seven hells!(Along with asshats at Comcast who decided to drop the ball on providing me with WiFi during my long awaited vacation)**_

_**I hope everyone is doing well. COVID-19 is a real bitch, and while I am grateful that mine was one of the few professions labeled "essential" when the quarantine came down, not a day has gone by where I haven't thought about this story and the people who read it. Do me a favor. Even if you have nothing to say about this chapter by the end of it, leave me a comment anyway. Just SOMETHING to let me know you're all still alive and well out there. **_

_**And now, my dear readers… NAEJOT!**_

* * *

Chapter 8: Why We Fight

* * *

\- _Winterfell Great Hall, E-Day plus one -_

"Thank you all for coming. I realize that after our rather dramatic return last night, and the whispers you've no doubt heard from the civilians and soldiers over the course of the day, many of you have questions. With this meeting, I hope to answer them."

Tyrion stood near the doors of the Great Hall as they closed behind the last of the arrivals, watching intently as Daenerys regarded all those in attendance.

The Great Hall was packed with every lord and lady in Winterfell, along with Bran and his small counsel. Also present were several members of Daenerys' officer corps, including Grey Worm, Arya, and that new fellow, Baird. However, there were two people notably absent from the gathering. And while everyone knew that Jon was still mourning the loss of his best friend, it was the second empty chair at the high table that drew most of the room's immediate concern.

"Where is the Queen?" Lord Royce bit out, his tone impetuous.

Standing from her seat and choosing to address the entire room rather than the speaker, Daenerys replied with a calm, even voice.

"Lady Sansa is currently recuperating in Maester Wolkan's Surgery. She is stable, but has been rendered unconscious with milk of the poppy, so that she may sleep during the earliest, most _painful_ stages, of her healing."

Tyrion swallowed thickly, as nervous murmurs filled the hall at that revelation. None of Northern Lords or Ladies were present when Daenerys and Jon's team returned from The Vale. None of them knew exactly what had happened, or the cause and extent of her injuries, and hearing that she required a large enough dose of milk of poppy to put her to sleep only seemed to increase their anxiety. The former Hand decided to voice the next question, before Lord Royce could in a tone that likely would have done more harm than good.

"How did she sustain her injuries?"

Daenerys closed her eyes before responding, a clear sign to all that the answer would not ease their minds.

"She suffered severe shrapnel wounds and minor burns to her face, after removing her helmet in an attempt to appeal to Lord Royce. To convince him of my sincerity in wanting to drive the Locust Horde from Westeros. A torque bow bolt detonated next to her face, triggering an ambush that forced us to abandon the Eyrie, and ultimately resulted in the fall of The Vale."

For several seconds, nobody spoke, too stunned by the gravity of her last four words. But by the look of anger and contempt Tyrion saw forming on her face, Daenerys wasn't done.

"In other words, Lord Royce; corporal Sansa came with us in good faith hoping to make up for her past transgressions, and instead ended up paying for yours."

Lord Royce visibly recoiled, clearly not expecting such a cutting retort. Or the permissive silence in the room that followed it. "I beg your pardon?"

"You don't have it! Your _stupidity_ and _arrogance_ prevented us from providing you with the weapons, training, and soldiers necessary to hold The Vale. Due to that fact, the Locust Horde has now seized control of the single most geographically secure region in Westeros. Giving them an above-ground stronghold that's not only impervious to ground assault, but also perfectly located to cut us off from half the continent!" Her eyes blazed with anger and contempt, fists clenched and trembling in rage. "My plan to defeat the Locust, to ensure the survival of the entire human race, has now been compromised!"

Tyrion and the other small council members, along with the other lords of the North, watching as the Mother of Dragons lived up to her name. Ripping the Lord of Runestone apart with her words. Yohn Royce tried to defend himself, but the look she gave him next, and what she said, sent a shiver of terror down each of their spines.

Narrowing her eyes, lips twitching upwards in an ill-disguised smirk, Daenerys spoke with tone that could only be described as...malignant.

"_I_...will _deal_ with you, when this is over... _My lord._"

The old man's face went pale as snow, and the screech of a dragon could be heard in the distance. Daenerys allowed a few moments to let her words sink in, before returning her gaze to the rest of the room, her stance returning to one of casual indifference. "Next question?"

Tyrion glanced around the room, every skeptic of Daenerys Targaryen's leadership appearing adequately cowed by the promise of her wrath. He also caught a few of the fleeting smirks of smug satisfaction that adorned the faces of her officers and supporters. He wore one himself, having learned his lesson long ago. But then his mind seized on something she had said during her evisceration.

"General…" meeting the challenging gaze of his former queen, the dwarf of Casterly Rock cleared his throat before finishing, "...how _do_ you plan to defeat the Locust?"

* * *

_Well, they haven't decried me as a madwoman YET. I'd call that a good sign. _

As the self-deprecating thought ran through her mind, Dany couldn't help but feel relieved by the way things were going thus far.

When Tyrion gave voice to the true purpose of Daenerys calling this meeting, the sun still shone through the windows of the Great Hall. By the time she neared the end of her explanation, day had long given way to night. A fact that was entirely lost on the occupants of the Great Hall, who grew more and more impressed, and terrified, with each daring detail.

Put simply, her plan was to turn the defining strength and advantage of the Locust Horde against them, by hitting them where they would never expect; the Hollow.

After laying out how to would bring everyone that they possibly could from the southern kingdoms north of The Neck, Daenerys asserted that the Locusts would have no other choice but to try and fight their way through the bogs and swamps, as well as the hundreds of thousands of human and non-human defenders that would be waiting for them there.

Or, repeat the strategy they used at The Vale, and negate those obstacles by tunneling underneath them.

"_There may have been a silver lining to your incompetence after all, Lord Royce," _she recalled saying at that point, receiving brief snickers of amusement from her officers, and even a few lords as a result.

She went on to say that once the Horde emerged on the northern side of the Neck, Jon and Arya would lead the bulk of their forces in a staggered defense of Winterfell. Meanwhile, Daenerys would take several hundred men, one hundred of her dragons, and all the explosive ordinance they could carry, south of the Neck. Flying around Cape Kraken and over Ironman's Bay to avoid detection, they would find the main southern entry point into the Hollow, and fight their way below ground. Planting explosives as they went.

"Once we're back above ground, we will set off the explosives. Causing a chain reaction that will collapse The Neck, flooding most, if not the ENTIRE Hollow with seawater. Forcing them to the surface where we can annihilate them, once and for all!"

Finished with her explanation, Daenerys downed the last of a flagon of water, soothing her parched throat before arching a brow at the disbelieving faces that stared back at her. "Thoughts?"

"_Flood_ the Hollow?" it was one of the younger lords, Cerwyn, that spoke out first. While many wore looks of shock or anxiety, Daenerys was pleased to find his was one of excited curiosity. She nodded in affirmation.

"Yes. Even if there are millions of Locust above ground when we do, I assure you there are BILLIONS below that will perish as a result. At the very least, it will buy us time to take back and secure most of the continent. Best case, it will drive them from Westeros entirely, allowing us to rally our combined forces and begin preparations for-"

"Have you gone COMPLETELY MAD!?"

_And THERE it is..._

All heads turned to Samwell Tarly, wearing a look of open-mouthed horror and indignation. Daenerys didn't even blink at his outburst.

"Problem, Tarly?" She noticed him turning progressively more disturbed as she outlined her plan, clearly wanting to object to it. Were it the byproduct of respect rather than cowardice, she would almost be impressed by his level of restraint. But after the earlier impudence of Yohn Royce, all she felt at this point was exhaustion, and a determination to put down the descenters as quickly as possible.

Her dismissive tone had the desired effect.

"Where do I begin!? That your entire plan relies on the Locust making a mistake that, according to you, they've made at least _twice_ already? That you think the entire continent, a nation that's divided already and in shambles from mass poverty and starvation, will just bow down and do as you ask, uprooting their lives and coming north on the word of someone they don't even think is alive, let alone worthy of following? Oh, or maybe!"

He swept his hands out over the room, sarcasm and incredulity coming off him in waves. "Maybe your absurd belief that you and a band of a few hundred bloodied savages and exiles can somehow outmaneuver that army of monsters. An army that's _already_ beaten you, and numbers in the...what was it you said?" locking eyes with the woman he clearly despised, she watched as he hammered home the point she knew he was building towards. "Oh right…BILLIONS!"

Derisive tone notwithstanding, Samwell's 'objections' seemed to be getting through to the gathered lords and ladies. And some of her officers too. Hopelessness seemed to fall over the room like a fog, Daenerys giving nothing away as the fat coward she loathed looked at her with unbridled hatred and defiance.

"You're right."

Shock filled the Great Hall, all eyes focused on the fallen Targaryen queen. Making her way out from behind the high table, she stood before them in the middle of the room, raking her gaze over the sea of men and women that surrounded her.

"We are bloodied, and beaten…and defeated at that… _but here we are_…"

Her voice trembled with conviction.

"_Five years _beyond what anyone could ask of us."

Her officers began to rise as she walked around the room, meeting the eyes of each and every one.

"Our world is gone… The lives we had are gone… And now, all that we may have left, are those standing beside us…" Dany came to her sister, Arya's eyes brimming with tears of pride.

"...and a duty that _defines_ us. Battle after battle, fighting side by side…Together."

Crossing her arms behind her back, Daenerys stalked towards the still-seated grand maester.

"Where you see a band savages and exiles, Lord Tarly…I see _family_…_Brothers… Sisters!_" Turning then to the people of the North, her voice rose as they did.

"And an army of heroes who would fight their way through HELL for any and everyone who would join that family!... And where you see a nation in shambles, Tarly…"

Looking at the only one left in the entire room still sitting, she went for the kill.

"...I see home…And THAT, is ALWAYS WORTH FIGHTING FOR!"

Feeling their mother's energy flood their veins, her dragons all roared as the Great Hall cheered.

* * *

Despite the righteous thrill and surge of confidence she felt in the wake of addressing her men and the people of the North, Daenerys hesitated as she walked across the main courtyard, towards the entrance to the Winterfell crypts. She paused three steps away from the opening, one of the gated doors hanging open and squeaking on its ancient hinges as a small gust of midnight wind caught it, sending a shiver down her spine as unwanted memories flooded her mind. Memories that had grown less frequent over the last five years, but were just as potent in their corrosiveness as they were when they were still fresh.

The last time she entered this sacred mausoleum, she had gone in with a mindset and intentions very similar to what she had now. As a self-assured leader and savior, looking to seek mutual consolation and companionship with the man she loved, before they and their united forces faced death itself. Instead, her entire world and identity had been turned on its head, turning that man into the greatest threat she and everything she built had ever faced.

But that was not the case this night. There were no thrones or titles left to drive them apart, and this time it would be her trying to console him, instead of her trying to seek consolation from him. Just like that horrible night over five years ago, they needed each other. They depended on each other. And right now, Jon needed her. With that thought solidifying her resolve, she stepped forward and descended into the dark catacombs below.

The nerve wracking sense of deja vu was nearly suffocating, as she steadily made her way through the labyrinth, the stone visages of ancient kings watching her as she made her way deeper and deeper. Until finally rounding a corner. _The _corner. And the sight that greeted her was so terrifyingly familiar that she very nearly lost her nerve and turned around.

There Jon stood, dressed in his old leather gambeson and fur cloak. Two candles and a single torch illuminated his brooding form, and the stone sarcophagus before him.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took a deep breath, and slowly walked forward.

She stopped when he shifted his head to acknowledge her presence, standing an arms length away as their gazes met. Though his face remained unchanged from its sad, brooding countenance, she could see the gratitude in his eyes. Despite what she feared, he was grateful to have her here. It calmed her, and gave her the courage to speak, though the words came out barely above a whisper.

"I felt your absence at the meeting earlier. You missed a good speech. One of my best." His mouth twitched in a half smile, and the sight filled her with warmth, "I thought I might find you here."

He turned his head back to stare up at the stone statue of Lyanna Stark, the woman who had given birth to him. An act which served as the catalyst for every hardship and tragedy the two of them had ever endured. An act which led them both to where they stood now. Alone, but together, in spite of it all.

Looking at the statue of the woman who had near-single handedly caused the fall of her entire House, yet in doing so had given her the man she loved, the father of her child, she was momentarily lost for words. Knowing what speaking of his mother had led to last time, she decided to speak on the true cause of their presence here.

"I'm sorry, about Tormund. He was...well, he was quite a character." Jon chuckled in agreement at that, and she breathed out a laugh herself.

"That's one way to describe him."

She watched as Jon took a deep breath. "He was the only one I had left, you know. After…" he trailed off, not breaking his gaze from his mother's carved face.

Daenerys didn't speak. She didn't need to. It was clear what Jon was referring to, and giving voice to it would only cause both of them more pain. So she stayed silent, a sympathetic sentry standing watch over him, allowing him the opportunity to say whatever it was he needed to say to find some form of solace. Of peace.

Finally, after several agonizing seconds, he pressed on.

"...after months in a dungeon, praying that what I had done hadn't led my family and your people to slaughter each other, to finish what the Night King couldn't, I was finally released…Only to find I had been stripped of my inheritance, by the very people who had wanted me to claim it in the first place. Their only reason being that it was a means of stripping you of yours without acting 'dishonorably'. Without openly breaking the pledges they had made to you." His entire body trembled as fire filled his veins.

"Bran had been 'elected' to rule Westeros. The North was given its independence, with Sansa naming herself Queen in the North…" he huffed as if in amusement, but there was no mirth in his eyes. No joy or pride in the apparent resurgence of his once-thought defeated and scattered family. Only anger and contempt.

"...While I, their _true king_…" bitterness and disgust dripped from those two words like they were cursed, diseased. "Was sent to live out the rest of my days in exile beyond the Wall, as a resworn brother of the Night's Watch. Out of the way, out of sight, and out of mind…" then, just as swiftly as it had arisen, his anger receded, replaced by a near-palpable agony and grief, with a soft yet clear undertone of nostalgia.

"Tormund and the Freefolk were the only ones left, the only people that embraced me as one of their own without any pretense…and the only ones left in all of Westeros who, like me, still saw you as the true savior of all the Living. Every year, on the anniversary of your death - I swore to never let myself forget - they would all join me when I went to visit the lake where we captured the White Walker. Where you sacrificed one of your dragons, one of your _children_, simply to save us from what ended up being a fool's errand." a genuine chuckle left his lips at that, as he finally turned to face her.

"In the five years I spent in darkness more crushing than that of the Long Night, Tormund was my light. My only respite from an otherwise meaningless existence. A reminder that what you had done, what we had gone through _together_, wasn't for nothing…and now he's gone."

Such was how Jon ended what was essentially the eulogy for his fallen friend. In the absence of a funeral, it was all he could do for the one person, besides Arya, who had stood by him longer than anyone else.

They stood there, in total silence, Jon's eyes boring into Dany's as she processed all he had just told her. Several minutes passed, Daenerys shifting her gaze to the floor in a gesture of silent reflection. Jon stood through the silence, patiently waiting to see what Dany would say or do, after witnessing him unload the massive mountain of emotional baggage he had been carrying around for half a decade.

Then, in a move that was so quintessentially _Dany_, she surprised him.

She started giggling.

"What's so funny?" he huffed out in bemusement, utterly confused by her sudden shift in mood.

Swallowing any further laughter, she shook her head in quiet disbelief. "It's just so unbelievably absurd…"

Jon arched his eyebrows at that, silently demanding she explain that statement. She quickly elaborated.

"Absurd, that it's taken me this long to realize the irony. Of the circumstances that led to our being split apart and turned on one another." Seeing the confusion plastered all over his face, she elaborated.

"Everyone who was made aware of your parentage wanted to make you King, the sole exceptions being the two of us. And yet, the last time we stood here together, before you made me aware as well; that was exactly what I wanted to do." At that, Jon's confused expression turned to one of stunned disbelief.

"All that nonsense about my brother, and what everyone said he did to your mother. I hadn't come down here planning to say any of that. But when I saw you here, standing before the grave of the woman my brother wanted so much, he started a war for her, it struck me..."

She looked at the statue of that woman now, love and admiration filling her heart.

"Once the dead were defeated, WE could set things right. End the animosity between Houses Stark and Targaryen. By doing, in hindsight, what your parents had already done; Join our houses, before gods and men." A hint of wistfulness entered her voice as she met his eyes once more.

"It was so perfect. It would have solidified our alliance, appeased your lords and my advisors. It would have achieved all of that. But such concerns would be afterthoughts compared to the true reasoning behind such a union; we loved each other."

Voice trembling, she stepped forward, linking her arms loosely around his neck, "Now, here we stand, years later, our love stronger than ever. So that I can say to you, what I _should_ have said to you, as soon as you told me who you really were."

Watching the eyes of the man she loved go wide with anticipation, she saw him swallow before speaking his next words. Voice barely above a whisper. "And what's that?"

"Marry me."

* * *

For several moments, Jon just stood there. Briefly overwhelmed by all that had happened over the course of the last day. Eventually, he brought one hand to her waist, while the other smoothed over her chest…_feeling _the scar that rested over her heart even through the under armour she wore. "Are you sure, Dany?"

She said nothing at first, only leaning forward to kiss him sweetly.

"Yes." He was as much a victim as she was, and Dany was tired of letting that define them. She loved him desperately, and while they both knew that, she wanted the world to know as well.

"We're family, Jon. You, me, Saera, and however many dragonwolves we choose to have after this." The very thought caused a tingle to travel down her spine, and heat to pool in her center. The thought of making more children with this wonderful man. Gods knew she wanted a whole clutch of them as soon as this whole nightmare was over.

"Marry me, my love. Please." Dany bit her lip, awaiting his response.

Silence reigned for a moment before Jon grinned lightly. "I was planning on asking you, the night when Sam..." A surge of anger coursed through him, but Jon quickly stamped it out. Now was a moment of joy, not hate.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he looked into her eyes and gave his answer.

"Yes."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Yes?"

"Yes, I will marry you, Dany."

Eyes filling with tears of joy, a cheeky look came over her face. "I love you, Jon…but remember, I asked first…" Only to be cut off when Jon's lips crashed into hers. Mind shutting down as she lost herself to love and lust.

"I love you," Jon murmured as he kept kissing her. "You're mine."

"Ohhh, Jon." His lips trailed down to her neck, stretching the collar of her shirt to reveal the creamy skin.

No matter how many times they made love, Jon couldn't get enough of this woman. His aunt. The mother of his child. And now, his betrothed. "I'm going to marry you..." A lick across the length of her neck, causing Dany to shudder. "In the Godswood..." A hard suck, Dany's gasp previewing a glaring mark marring her skin. "Beneath the full moon." Dany's heart soared. That was just two weeks from now. "But tonight..." He kissed back to the corner of her mouth. "I worship you..." Jon kissed her in between every word. "All." Kiss. "Night." Kiss. "Long." Kiss.

The mood of the moment changed completely. Whereas once it was sweet, loving, and reverent, Jon's words seemed to warm the chilled tunnel. A powerful heat consuming the two Targaryens. Dany's violet eyes darkened till they were almost black, head pulling back to stare into ones just as violet, just as dark. Her mouth hanging open ever so slightly, a look of hunger coating her face. "What if I can't wait?" she growled, body humming with an insatiable desire, lips forming into a wicked grin.

Jon's eyes widened. "Here?" His tone was quizzical, but from how his cock strained against his breeches, it was clear he approved to some degree.

Dany nodded, fingertips trailing down the gambeson fitting tightly over his muscular chest. "_Ñuha valzȳrys,_" she breathed. Her hands began to unlatch his belt. "_Mazverdagon nyke aōhon." _Frantic, she yanked off his belt and pushed his cloak to the dusty floor - creating an impromptu blanket.

Whether he pulled her down or Dany pushed him, it didn't matter in the end. The two tumbled onto the cloak, mouths fused together in a desperate, sloppy kiss. Hands groping all over each other's bodies while battling for dominance. Jon was stronger, but Dany had the untamed ferocity of a full-blooded dragon - it was a fair fight. His clothes were nearly ripped off, as were hers in her frantic desire to strip them both bare. "Dany..." he gasped when she curled her fingers around his cock.

"I am never letting you go, Jon." Daenerys said breathlessly, slipping off her underclothes. The last bit of garments left on her body. "Married or not, you're _mine_."

His eyes were riveted, Daenerys so aroused that she was grinding her hips against his stomach. Eyes lidded with lust. One hand gripping her waist, the other cupped her cheek. Stroking it with his thumb. "I've always been yours."

Her lip quivered at his words as she stared down upon him. "Gods..." Dany guided his palms to cup her breasts. Begging wordlessly for him to knead the glorious mounds. "You're perfect, Jon." Moaning at his touch. "Devour me, my dragonwolf. Your Queen commands it." He had always been driven mad with lust whenever she used their royal titles, and from the look of his dilated eyes, that hadn't changed. A silent scream escaped her lips when he pulled her atop his mouth to attack her folds. _The Lord's Kiss... fuck... his tongue is just as I remember..._

The first time he did this was on the boat, the morning after their first night together. And it felt just as amazing now as it did then, Jon's tongue tasting her wetness like he was starved. Lapping at her like a hungry wolf. He gripped her hips, arm reaching up to cup a heaving breast as she began to fuck his face.

"_Kessa, Jon, kessa!" _The High Valyrian tumbled from her lips, pleasure clouding Dany's mind. "_Kisalbar va ñuha orvorta... ooooh!" _Daenerys moaned loudly when he began plunging in and out of her, licking deep while flicking a nipple with his finger. "_Kessa, _just like that."

A flood of wetness coated his tongue. Gods, Jon knew his beard was slick with her juices. Delving his tongue one last time deep into her insides, he began licking broad stripes from her opening to her engorged nub and back again. Smiling when Daenerys cried out above him, her stomach going taut.

Eyes fluttering shut, Dany saw an explosion of Dragonfire. Her mouth fell open, frantically clutching at his dark locks - far from a Targaryen trait but Dany adored them all the same. Humping against his face in a desperate need to cum. "Jon!" Dam finally breaking, she threw her head back, mouth gaping open in a silent scream as she shattered atop him.

Drinking and savoring every drop of her delicious juices, the rightful King feasted on his warrior Queen's folds. Making her shudder for many long, blissful seconds before finally, reluctantly, sliding her lower lips from his. Straddling his hips so his cock poked against the smooth skin of her thigh. Hissing at the contact.

Recovering from her climax, the noises escaping Jon brought Daenerys back to reality. Hunger building again in her loins, demanding to be sated. In all her life, no conquest had been greater than Jon Snow. No dream sweeter than her King. Letting out a carnal growl, she collapsed flush against him. Sealing their mouths together, the taste of herself on his lips spurring her further... only for him to flip her over. Muscles flexing and eyes dark. She shivered in delight.

Perhaps it was she who was the conquest?

Statues of Starks long dead stared down at them with seeming disapproval, but Jon couldn't care less. _Dragons answer to neither gods nor men. _Arms and hips pinning the mighty conqueror to the ground, for only the second time in his life - the first being when he rode Lyannarys - he felt like the dragonlord he was. Heat from his body almost steaming the cold air around him. Growling as Dany tried to writhe beneath him. So powerful, yet overpowered and bare for him. "I'm going to claim you, Daenerys."

A powerful jolt shot through her core, her arousal spiking at his words. A breathy moan escaped her lips when his cock came to rest at her entrance. "Yes, please… claim me… Aegon." In a moment of clarity, she used his Targaryen name. Curious of what it would do…Daenerys screamed. Crying out in pleasure as Jon thrust deep inside her warm, wet channel. Hilting inside her as his mouth latched onto her neck, sucking hard.

Jon growled against her neck when he felt her fingers dig into his back, legs wrapping around his already pumping hips to force him deeper. Urging him to fuck her raw. To take her completely. "Fuck... Dany..."

_"Jon... shit... don't stop..."_

Coaxing another scream from her lungs, Jon grunted as her fingers clawed deeper into his back, breaking the skin. The small sting of pain only spurred him on. "_Daorun, kessa keligon nyke._" Jon shot back in High Valyrian. Halting, but very good for someone with only two weeks of lessons.

Hearing her love speak the language of their blood, Dany's inner walls throbbed as her arousal soared. Her wetness soaking his cock as he plundered her body at will. _"Kessa... kessa... qogralbar nyke qopsa!" _Her head tilted back, gasping from the pleasure of his thrusts. He was splitting her in half, and she loved it.

Mind blank, all that Jon could think about at this moment was making love to this woman. Showing her he was never leaving. Marking her as his mate_. _His Queen. _All mine._ Eyes flying open, dark and stormy grey, he continued to pound her cunt - tip of his cock kissing the entrance of her womb, making her moan - as he lunged.

Dany gasped, her hands ripped away from his back. Jon pinning them over her head. Exposing her entire chest to his hungry gaze. Growling, Jon took one of the rose tips in his mouth, and sucked hard. Making her writhe with lust as he thrusted in and out of her. Driving into her so deeply that the head of his cock actually penetrated her cervix, bott . "Fuuuuuck... Jonnnn!"

Pulling out just enough so that only the tip remained inside, Jon slammed back in. "Mine!" he hissed. "Mine to fuck! Mine to breed!" Each utterance timed accompanied by a frantic thrust. "My Dany!" Out, slam back in. "My Dany!" Out, slam back in. "MY DANY!"

"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes, I'm yours! Yours forever!"

Dany couldn't even move. Cunt fucked raw, simply a vessel for his pleasure. Gods, it felt so good. "More! More! Fuck me hard, Aegon!"

"Yes, Daenerys! Take it! Take your nephew's cock..." He pounded her hard enough to leave bruises on her backside, each thrust bringing her to a rapturous expression.

Until the last. Length throbbing with heat, Jon groaned as he climaxed. Ropes of seed shooting from his tip, bypassing her cervix, and spilling directly into her womb. Triggering Dany's own release, what had to be the most explosive of her life. Back arching from the ground and teeth sinking into the thick muscle of Jon's shoulder. The two of them riding out their trembling orgasms in each other's arms.

Slowly, Jon rolled them onto their sides, still buried to the hilt inside her warmth. The head of his cock was still trapped snuggly inside her womb, her cervix clenching around his half-hard member, acting as a seal to prevent any of his warm, potent seed from escaping.

Bringing them to rest on one side of his soiled, ruined cloak, he used one arm to fold it over their naked lower halves, while the other one brought their rumpled clothes over to rest beneath their heads. Having ensured they were in as comfortable a position as possible in the present circumstances, he wrapped his arms back around the shivering form of his love. Placing a soft and loving kiss atop her head before drifting off into slumber.

Watching as all tension left his body as sleep took him, Daenerys used her hand to gently stroke his cheek. Smiling in unbridled joy at the sight of this wonderful man. Her nephew. Her mighty Dragonwolf. The father of her child. The love of her life.

Soon, she would add Husband to that list as well.

Eyelids growing heavy, she used the last of her energy to shift her gaze to the statue behind him. Lyanna Stark. The woman who had given her life to bring this amazing, beautiful man into the world. Closing her eyes, she breathed out one final utterance before letting the exhaustion from their coupling finally overtake her.

"Thank you."

* * *

_**The sex scene was cowritten with the help of my talented friend, Longclaw 1-6. **_

_**Please leave a comment.**_

**Translations:**

**NAEJOT = FORWARD**

**Ñuha valzȳrys = My husband**

**Mazverdagon nyke aōhon = Make me yours**

**Kisalbar va ñuha orvorta = Feast on my cunt**

**Daorun, kessa keligon nyke = Nothing, will stop me**

**qogralbar nyke qopsa = fuck me hard**


End file.
